The Weekend
by HuskerCat
Summary: They called.  He came home.  Nothing would ever be the same for any of them.
1. Chapter 1

He walked down the jet way from the plane, pulling out his cell as he went. He flipped it open and dialed a familiar number. "Yeah, I just landed." He paused, listening. "No. I don't have anything to pick up. I'll be right out." He closed the phone and moved quickly through the crowds of people lining the concourse. A few minutes later, he arrived at the drop off/pick up area. He scanned the arriving and departing cars, looking for the familiar sedan. A moment later, the car pulled up to the curb. He opened the back door, tossed his bag on to the back seat and slammed the door. He then opened the front door and slid into the front passenger seat.

"It's amazing, you know. They don't want you parking by the curb to pick someone up, but they don't mind you driving around in circles. The logic escapes me," his father said as he pulled back out into traffic.

He tilted his head back against the headrest and shut his eyes. "They don't want someone parking in front of the terminal with a bomb."

"I know. But they think that would actually stop someone from exploding a bomb. It wouldn't take any more time than it would to pick someone up. I mean…"

He opened his eyes and looked over. "Really, Dad? Do you really want to be telling me this? About how you've thought about airport bombings?"

"I'm just saying, the logic." He glanced over at his son, who had already shut his eyes again. "Thanks for coming, Donnie," he said softly.

"It's okay, Dad."

He sighed. "You know your mother and I…"

"I know," he interrupted. "It's okay."

He drove on in silence. He'd heard the tension and fatigue in his son's voice and decided to just let him be. There were times when it just wasn't worth it to push him.

Traffic wasn't as bad as it usually was and they arrived at the house in relatively good time. He opened his eyes as they pulled in to the driveway. The house, his childhood home, hadn't changed a bit. The classic craftsman lines, warm and familiar still seemed inviting, welcoming him back. As the car stopped, he popped open his door and then moved to grab his bag from the back seat. As he did, his father noticed the sidearm.

"They actually let you get on a plane with that?" he asked, nodding his head at the weapon.

"Yes, they do." He picked up the bag. "Some pilots even appreciate it."

"You brought it here? You're taking it in to the house? You know…"

He interrupted his father. "Dad, it's part of my job. Would you feel better if I left it sitting on the front seat of the car? You think that would be a better idea?"

"Well, no. But a gun? In the house?"

He took a deep breath. Was this always going to be a discussion between them? "It's fine, Dad. It'll be kept safe." He shut both car doors and headed towards the house. How long had it been since he'd been home? He couldn't quite remember. Thanksgiving, maybe? No, not this past one, he'd been in the middle of a case. Maybe the year before. He shook his head. It didn't matter right now.

He reached the front door and opened it, stepping in to the foyer. He looked around. Nothing had changed. The furniture, the pictures, the stuff. It was all just as he remembered it. He took another deep breath, shut his eyes and let it all just wash over him. He was home.

He heard two voices and then the door creak. He opened his eyes, turned, and smiled. "Hi, Baby Girl," he said.

"Donnie!" she said, dropping her things on the floor with a thud, rushing to him.

He dropped his own bag and opened his arms to her, knowing instinctively to catch her just before she plowed in to him. He hugged her, then kissed the top of her head. "Look at you," he said, holding her away from him, while he looked her up and down. He frowned at the short, short skirt and sleeveless polo shirt that she was wearing.. "They let you go to school dressed that way?"

She rolled her eyes. "I had tennis practice." She put her hands on her hips. "Plus, I don't think you get to tell me what to wear, big brother."

"Maybe not, but still…"

"Let her be, Don," a voice said from the stairs.

He turned. "Mom. I hope we didn't wake you. I thought you…"

"It's okay," she said. "You didn't wake me up. I know when your sister's due home." She looked over at her daughter and smiled. "You should go change, Sweetheart, so we can go out to eat. Oh, and please choose something appropriate for a nice meal. It's not often that you're brother's here."

She wrinkled her nose at her mother. "A party dress, maybe? With a little tiara?" she said as she headed to the stairs.

"Ohh, what sass," she said, giving her daughter a little smack on the behind as she went by.

"I can't imagine where she gets it from," their father said, smiling up at his wife.

The teenager giggled as she bounded up the steps towards her room.

"That sound can only come from an adolescent girl," he thought, as he watched her disappear at the top of the steps. He remembered why he missed her.

His mother reached the bottom of the stairs and came over to him. She wrapped her arms around him in an embrace, holding him close. "Don."

He could smell her perfume, the scent that she'd worn for as long as he remembered. He closed his eyes and inhaled. The gentle floral always reminded him of her and of times both near and far. He took another breath. "I'll come home, Mom," he whispered.

She pulled away slightly, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Don, you don't…"

"It's okay. I'm coming home," he said quietly.

"But your job."

"Don't worry. I'll make it work. It might take a little time, but when I get back on Monday, I'll start… I'll make it work." He saw the weariness in her face, the lines deeper around her eyes than he remembered. "It'll be alright, Mom."

She smiled weakly at him. "Oh, Donnie."

He kissed her and gave her a hug. "It'll be okay. Don't worry."

She looked into his eyes, the mixture of strength and sadness and determination that they held. Her brave boy. Her strong, brave boy. She'd missed him so.

He looked away. "I'm going to go clean up for dinner." He reached over and picked up his bag, throwing it over his shoulder.

"Your room's ready. I put some extra towels on your dresser, and there are fresh sheets on the bed." She shut her eyes for a moment and looked back at him. "And Don, be careful with that, please," she said, making a small gesture towards his gun.

He sighed, running his fingers through his short hair. "Yeah. I know." He headed up the stairs, towards his old room. At the top of the steps, he heard the faint sound of music, the kind of sugary pop tunes that only teenage girls (and the boys trying to date them) ever could listen to. He shook his head, the faintest of smiles crossing his face. He couldn't believe that his little sister was old enough to be listening to that kind of stuff, that she wasn't a little girl anymore.

He took the last couple of steps to his room. He stopped in the doorway and looked around. Very little had changed in the room since his childhood and even less since he'd gone off to college years before. The posters were gone, but he'd done most of that himself before he'd left. The thumbtack holes had been filled and the room repainted, but in almost the exact same shade of cool, pale green that it had been before. The furniture sat in the same places where he'd left it, with some of the old books still on the shelves alongside the trophies and memorabilia that he hadn't taken with him when he'd moved out. He went over to the shelf closest to his old desk and ran his fingers over the spines of the books, his eyes roaming over the titles. The desk still had paper and pens on it, along with some old notes that he'd left the last time he'd been there. Criminal law. He shook his head. He'd wondered where he'd left those. He took his phone off his belt, put it on the desk, along with his watch and then put his gun next to it. The same desk where he'd practiced his handwriting as a little kid.

He put his bag on the bed, opened it, pulled out his things and laid them on the bed. He looked over to his old dresser, then back to his things then back to the dresser again. He reached over, opened one of the drawers, and, finding it empty, decided to put his clothes inside. What harm would it do, besides, it was his dresser. He took his shaving kit and put it on top of the dresser. He opened it, took out a few things and grabbed one of the clean towels that his mother had left for him. He took the items and headed towards the bathroom, hoping not to find that his sister had taken it over. She hadn't. He dropped his stuff on the shelf near the sink and turned on the faucet to let the water warm up. He rested his hands on the edge of the sink and looked into the mirror that hung over it. What he saw was the results of both not enough and too much. Not enough sleep, not enough downtime, too much stress, too many memories, too many emotions. He shook his head and looked away. He reached for his soap, washed his face and then ran his wet hands through his hair. He dried his face with the towel and then looked back in the mirror. He sighed. At least he looked a little more refreshed than he had.

He left the bathroom, leaving his things on the shelf, but taking the towel with him and headed back to his room. As he entered, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and then pushed the door behind him with his foot, the same way he used to. He used the slightly damp towel on his torso then looked in the dresser drawer he'd just put his clothes in. He grabbed a clean t-shirt and a button-down and proceeded to put them on. He ran his brush through his dampened hair then grabbed his watch off the desk and put it back on. He glanced at the phone. He should call Kim, if nothing else to let her know that he'd arrived in LA. He picked up the phone, flipped it open, then paused before he dialed. He decided to leave her a message on their home phone instead of trying her cell. He didn't want to take the chance of actually reaching her. He knew that there was going to be a long discussion that they were going to need to have and he really didn't want to have them over the phone.

He dialed the familiar number, listened while the answering machine played through its greeting, then took a deep breath before he started to speak.

"Hey, hon. I made it to LA. I'm at the house." He paused. "There's some stuff we're going to need to talk about, you know about the family, my family. I don't want to do it over the phone. So, umm. I'll be back on Sunday. Sunday night. We'll talk then, okay? So, umm, Sunday then. Love you. Bye." He hung up. He was not looking forward to the conversation that he was going to have to have with her. He'd made a pretty important decision that was going to affect both of their lives and he'd done it without discussing it with her or even mentioning that there was any discussion to be had. Honestly, he hadn't even thought before he made the decision to come back home. He shook his head. There wasn't really all that much that he could do now.

He flipped his phone closed and clipped it back to his belt. He looked towards his gun, still sitting on the desk. Normally, he'd put it back on before leaving, but this time, he wondered if he should. It bothered both of his parents, neither of whom really liked the fact that this was a part of his chosen career. And they were going out to a family dinner in a city where he didn't work. He went back to his bag and pulled out the one thing that he'd left in it. His gun case. He took it to the desk, picked up his gun, checked the chamber, put it in the case and then locked it. He took it over to the dresser, opened the bottom drawer and put the case in, then shut the drawer. He turned, then headed out of his room, towards the stairs, before he could reconsider.

He headed down the steps, hearing his mother on the phone as he got to the bottom.

"Hello, Charles Eppes, this is your mother, Margaret Eppes. Your brother has arrived and we're just about ready to head out to dinner. Are you coming? Do you need us to pick you up?"

He couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but he could imagine his brother, likely surrounded by chalk dust, considering her questions.

"Okay," he heard her answer. "We'll be there 15, 20 minutes. Can you please be ready and waiting for us so we don't have to come looking for you?" He saw her smile. "We'll see you soon, Sweetheart." She hung up and turned towards her husband. "He says he'll be ready."

"Yeah, good luck on that," he said to his mother.

She turned back to him. "We're going to Portofino's, is that alright?"

He smiled back at her. "Great. They have some of the best steak pizziola around."

"Red meat, let's eat," he heard his sister say from behind him as she came down the steps.

"Ah, at least my children got that from me," his father said.

His mother looked at his sister as she came down. She noticed something. "Julie, can you please put on some real shoes? Flip flops are not appropriate for the restaurant."

She rolled her eyes. "But, Mom…"

"Julia, change them. Now." She pointed up the steps.

"Fine," she huffed, heading back up the stairs.

He smirked. "You were the ones who always said you wanted a girl."

"Don, this is not about her being a girl. This is about her being a teenager. And I remember someone I used to know who was very particular about his hair, when he was that age…"

He blushed. Was there anything embarrassing that mothers didn't remember?

He was saved from any further sharing by his sister coming back down the stairs.

"Is this better?" she asked, with the petulant tone that can only be from a teenager to her mother.

"Much. Thank you."

He watched as his sister came down the rest of the steps and he wondered for a brief moment why her shoes had been the issue. It wasn't as though she was inappropriately dressed, it was more like she was riding the fine line between parentally acceptable and going out with her friends. Or on a date. Her jeans hugged her slender figure without being quite tight enough, or low enough, he supposed, to earn the wrath of her father. Her pale pink babydoll top, with its little cap sleeves, hit just below the waist of her jeans. The shoes that she put on were also pink, her favorite color since she'd been very young. Her shoulder-length dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, showing off the little charms she wore dangling from her ears. She carried a darker pink hoodie over her arm, in deference to their mother's usual insistence that they have a sweater or jacket, just in case.

All of a sudden, he realized he was staring. His little sister, his baby sister, was dressed to be noticed. Guys would notice her. He frowned slightly, shaking his head. He wasn't sure that he wanted to let her leave the house dressed like that. He felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"Don, she's fine. Don't worry about it," he heard his mother whisper from behind him. She'd seen his expression and thought that she'd say something before he opened his mouth and became an overprotective, very overprotective big brother.

"Can we leave already?" Alan asked from the doorway. "Or are we trying to make this the first time that Charlie has to wait for us?"

"That'd be rich," she said. "Charlie actually waiting for someone." She looked around, puzzled. "Where's my purse? It was with my stuff by the door."

"You mean the bags that you left sitting in the middle of the foyer?" her father asked. "I put them in the family room, where everyone wouldn't trip over them."

She rolled her eyes while she headed to the family room, where she grabbed her purse. "I'm readddy."

He looked at her. "What could you possibly be carrying in that little thing?"

She opened her purse. "My cell phone." She pulled it out and showed it to him. "My permit." She looked hopefully at her parents.

"No." They both answered in unison.

"Huhh." She responded. She reached in to the bag again. "My keys. And…"

He smiled. "A lipstick." He shook his head. "Always a lipstick." Ever since she'd been a little girl carrying her first purse, she'd carried a lipstick, whether a pretend, candy lipstick or as she got older, lip gloss then actual lipstick. She was always such a girly girl.

"Okay, enough chit chat. Let's go. Dinner." He tried to shoo them all towards the door. "Let's go."

She put her phone and keys back in to her purse and headed out, pausing as she passed her father to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Love you, Daddy."

He smiled then turned to his wife and elder son. "Don, Margaret, you coming?"

"We're right behind you," she said. As his father walked out the door, the foyer became silent, and in the silence, the reason why he'd come back this weekend seemed to press in on him. They needed to talk about what was happening, what was going to happen, but instead, they were acting like nothing was going on. He shut his eyes and as he did, he felt his mother's hand on his arm. "Don, it's time to go," she said.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Mom, we need…"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh."

He tried to take a deep breath. "Mom…"

"No, Don. Not tonight. Please. There will be enough time. Just for tonight…"

He nodded. They would be a family tonight, just like any other, their past issues irrelevant, their future… Well…

She slipped her arm in to his. "Let's go. Your father and sister are waiting and I can only wonder where Charlie might wander off to if we leave him waiting for too long." She smiled up at him.

He nodded again, forcing a small smile. "Let's go."


	2. The Car

The four of them climbed into his father's car; his father behind the wheel, his mother on the other side and he and his sister in back. His father started the car, put it into gear, turned out of the driveway and headed towards CalSci to pick up Charlie. The tension wasn't quite palpable, but it was there, no one quite sure what to say. Finally, his mother broke the silence.

"How was your flight, Sweetheart? I don't think I asked you before."

He took a deep breath, thankful to have something nondescript to which to respond. "It was fine. It's only about two hours of actual flight time. Although these days it seems like you have to be at the airport hours ahead of time."

"All the new security measures?" his mother asked.

"Yeah. They can be a real pain. At some point, I think they'll just have everyone fly naked. It might be simpler."

He heard his sister giggle. He smirked then gave her nudge and a look.

"Donnie," his father said, looking at him in the rear view mirror.

"What?" he paused. "Wait, weren't you the one talking about bombing airports when you picked me up?"

He saw his mother turn and look at his father. He could imagine the look she gave him. "Really, Alan?" she said. "Airport bombings? What happened to the anti-war pacifist community organizer I married?"

His father gave him another look in the mirror. "I made a comment about how you can't park by the curb any longer when you're meeting someone, that you have to circle around and around. I most certainly did not talk about bombing anything."

"And that's your story? Are you sure?" his mother asked sarcastically.

"Yes. And I'm sticking to it. And by the way, son, nice try at the deflection. You still think that that approach works?" He shook his head. "Everyone flying naked," he mumbled.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Worth a try," he said quietly. He hadn't initially meant it as a distraction, it was just the thought that he'd had. But it did cut the tension, made things seem...Well a little like they were themselves, not actors pretending to be them. He sighed. The car became quiet again.

He leaned back against the headrest, shutting his eyes. It had already been a long day for him; up before dawn so he could get what he needed to get done in his office before leaving for the airport, the travel time, flying (which he didn't particularly like to do-airports annoyed him) and now being home. He took a deep breath. A moment later, he felt his sister snuggle up against him. A smile crossed his lips. She always loved to be close, to **feel** the people in her life near her. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. He felt like she had changed so much since the last time he'd seen her. Of course, he reminded himself, it had been awhile. He did talk to her regularly, but he didn't come home, didn't **see** her. He sighed again. "So, you're playing tennis?" he asked her quietly, finding the need to say something.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Varsity?"

"Of course."

He gave her a quick squeeze. "Good girl."

She looked up at him. "Do you still play?" she asked. She'd started playing so she could play with him. Just like she'd learned golf to play with him and their father, hiked to have something to do with Charlie and continued piano to be with her mother.

"When I get the chance. So, not as much as I'd like."

She sat up a little straighter. "Maybe we could play this weekend?" she asked hopefully.

He looked over at her again. He didn't want to let her down. "I don't think we'll have time. And I didn't bring any of my stuff to play. When I'm back I'll make sure I bring my racquet and we'll make time. Okay?"

She looked him in the eye and he realized what he'd said. When I'm back. And she'd caught it. He shut his eyes for a moment and silently cursed at himself. He opened his eyes again and looked back into her eyes, silently telling her not to go further, not to question what he'd said. She looked away and looked back, giving him just the slightest nod. He exhaled, glad that she'd understood. The conversation that his careless statement could have opened up…It's not where they needed to go right now. "Actually," he thought, "It's exactly where it should go." But he respected his mother's wishes about what she wanted this dinner, this evening to be about.

"You promise?" she asked, covering the momentary silence.

He nodded. "I promise." He made a mental note to remember to put his tennis things in an easily accessible location so he wouldn't forget. He hated the idea of letting her down.

"Good," she said, leaning back against him.

"But please don't wear a skirt as short as the one you were wearing earlier. I mean really."

"Oh get over yourself," she said quietly.

"I just don't like the idea of guys staring at you."

She rolled her eyes. "Guys don't stare at me. They barely acknowledge my existence."

He saw his mother shift slightly in her seat, trying to act like she wasn't listening in on their conversation. "Oh I bet they most certainly do. Especially if you're wearing skirts that short."

"First of all big brother, I don't run around wearing my tennis clothes all the time. Second, they really don't stare. The guys at school are interested in Ds, not me."

"Ds?" he asked, not having a clue as to what she was talking about.

"Ds. Girls with Ds on their tests and Ds on their chests," she said holding her hands in front her.

He looked at her, his cheeks flushed. "Oh my god, I can't believe that you just said that."

She shrugged. "It's a tits and…"

"Julia," her mother interrupted. "Don't even think of finishing that sentence."

She shrugged again. "Well, it is, whether I say it or not. It's the way the world works."

"That's awfully cynical," her father said.

"It's not cynical. It's the way things are. I mean you can't tell me that there aren't criminals or whatever don't confess or whatever they do, to Don because he's a hot FBI guy. I mean come on now."

He heard his father trying to stifle a laugh as he turned from flushed to beet red. "God," he muttered. He couldn't believe that his sister, his baby sister, had just called him a hot FBI guy. That was just wrong. Very, very wrong. "Please tell me we're almost there," he mumbled.

He saw his mother's shoulders relax as the looks passed back and forth between her and his father. Well, at least his embarrassment was useful for something.

A few moments later they turned onto the CalSci campus and headed for, what he assumed, was Charlie's office. A couple of turns later, they pulled into a parking lot near a courtyard lined with stone benches. Sitting on one, with his face buried in a notebook, pencil in hand, was Charlie. He was still amazed that his brother, who could still pass easily as an undergrad himself, was a college professor.

His father honked the horn, attempting to get Charlie's attention. His brother looked up at the sudden noise with a slight frown, not appreciating the sound that distracted his train of though. He then realized who it was and the frown was replaced with a small smile. He headed over to the car and reached for the back door on the passenger side, where Don was sitting.

"Hey, Chuck," he said.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Hi, Don." He moved to get into the car.

He smirked. "Other side, Buddy."

"Excuse me?" Charlie asked with the door partially open.

"Other side. There's more leg room on this side…And I'm taller than you. So, go around."

"What?" He paused, looking at his brother strangely. "I don't…"

"Chuck…"

"Don't call me Chuck," he interrupted quietly. "I always sit on this side."

"Not this time. Go around."

"What are you? Twelve?" he grumbled.

"Boys, stop it. Charlie, just get in the car, please, so we can get to dinner," their mother said, shaking her head. "The more things change…"

"Tell me about it," Alan added. Their sons may be grown men, but when they were together, well, sometimes it was just like they were young boys again, poking, teasing, harassing each other.

"Again, it seems as though I'm the mature one," Julie said, adding in her two cents.

"Hardly," Charlie responded. "And you're sitting in the middle."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She scooted over to make room for him.

Charlie got in the car, squeezed in, and pulled the door shut. The three of them were scrunched together; the backseat of their father's car not really meant for three grown people. Don shifted again until he was pressed against the door. After having earlier spent several hours in tight airline seats, he was not amused. "You know," he said. "This would be more comfortable if you just took your own car and met us at the restaurant."

His sister snorted. "Yeah, right. You'd be better off if I drove. By myself. After dark. It would at least be more legal."

He leaned forward and looked around his sister at his brother, who was trying to pretend that he wasn't listening. "Really, Chuck? Again?"

"Again," Julie added.

He shook his head. "How is it that someone so smart can't manage to keep a driver's license? Idiot foreign terrorists can, but not the genius. It defies imagination."

"As I've said before, I strongly disagree with the methodology around radar speed detection. There are significant flaws in…"

"Chuck," he interrupted. "It doesn't matter what flaws you think there are…"

"It most certainly does," Charlie interrupted back. "If the methodology being used doesn't give accurate results…"

He held up his hands, cutting off his brother. "Really. It doesn't matter. You were speeding. And enough that they took your license again. What is this twice?"

Their sister held up three fingers. "Three," she said.

"Hey," Charlie said defensively. "Those weren't all for speeding."

"What, reckless driving, too?" Don asked.

"Oh, like you're some great driver," Charlie retorted, without really thinking about what he said.

His eyebrows went up. "I haven't had the state take away my license. And by the way, I've been trained to handle a vehicle in a wide range of scenarios. You, you're just dangerous. A menace on the road."

"Oh really. Who says?"

"Well, the state of California, for one."

"Okay, now both of you, that's enough," their father interjected.

"Yeah, Donald," Charlie retorted.

"Yeah, Chuck," Julie added, nudging her older brother with her elbow.

"Julie," her mother said. "Don't get in the middle of this."

"I'm already in the middle," she replied.

"You know what I mean," her mother said.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever…" She returned to resting her head against her oldest brother.

He looked down at her. "Thanks," he whispered. "But you don't really need to defend me. I can take care of myself."

"Humph," she snorted. "That's what you think."

He shook his head but didn't say anything.

He noticed his mother move her hand towards the center console of the car and his father mirror the gesture, taking her hand in his. He could imagine the smile on his mother's face. She had her children and her husband together; her children acting, like, well, children. It was familiar, comfortable. It was...family. Suddenly, his heart started to race. What if... What if…. She was the glue that kept them together, such as they were. What if…

He rested his head on the back of the seat, slowly exhaling to get back control over his emotions. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He felt his heart rate start to slow. He heard his mother's voice. "Don, sweetheart, are you okay?"

Damn. He picked his head up and took another breath to give himself an extra moment. "Yeah," he answered. "Just hungry. They don't feed you on planes anymore. Just a small thing of pretzels that wouldn't even feed a hamster."

"Well, we're almost there and then we can feed you," she said.

He smiled. "Good. I honestly think at this point I could eat an entire cow." His stomach growled, almost as if on cue. Maybe it was more than a cover story, he thought. Maybe being hungry was just making him a little irrational. But in his gut he knew that he wasn't being irrational. No matter how much they pretended tonight, the reality was still the reality. His mother was sick. She had, has, he reminded himself, has cancer and that meant that anything could happen. She could be fine, she might not. "No," he told himself. "Don't go there."

"Don," he heard his sister whisper. She'd lifted her head off of him upon hearing their mother's question.

He sighed. Now he was upsetting her, too. "Really, I'm fine, baby girl. It's just been a long day," he whispered back.

"Yeah," she responded. "Right."

He knew that she didn't believe him. He looked over at her. Even though she was sixteen and in most ways looked her age, she still had her round baby cheeks and wide, innocent eyes. He remembered their mother once describing them as fawn eyes; she'd always thought that if she'd somehow run into a fawn in the woods, that young deer would have the same dark innocent eyes as her youngest. But his sister wasn't some innocent woodland creature. She'd spent most of her childhood in a grown up family with very complex dynamics; where one sibling was emotionally relatively close but geographically distant and one who lived in the same house but was emotionally more distant. She'd learned to negotiate those relationships in her own way, sometimes seeming to understand them better than they understood themselves.

She wrapped her arm around his, holding on to him. Everyone thought of him as such a tough guy, but she knew better, had always known better. Underneath his strong, silent guy persona, (or wisecracking jock, depending on the crowd) he was a sweetheart, kind and gentle, always, from the time she was very little, willing to take her hand when she reached for him. Always willing to let her snuggle up to him, always giving her that soft smile that she thought of as only being for her. He hid that part of himself from so many people, even the people that were the closest to him. But she knew, had always known from the time she was a baby. He couldn't fool her, even though on occasion she humored him, let him think that he had. She protected that part of him as much as he protected her; she never, ever wanted to lose that part of her brother.

The car became quiet again; everyone lost in their own thoughts. There wasn't the earlier tension in the air but there was still the sense that something else was in the car with them, something that none of them wanted to acknowledge was there. They drove on to the restaurant…


	3. Dinner

The sedan pulled into the restaurant parking lot. Almost as if on cue, all four doors opened and they exited, Don stopping to stretch the moment his feet hit the ground. He'd spent far too long cooped up in tight seats and his muscles were now complaining about the lack of circulation. He reached overhead and before he could even exhale, he felt a poke in both sides, just under his ribs. He jumped and spun around.

"Hey," he said. "What was that for?"

She looked at him, hands on her hips. "You're in the way."

"You could have just asked me to move," he said matter-of-factly.

"Not nearly as much fun," she answered.

"Well, I'm glad I could amuse you."

"Someone has to. Now move," she said.

He rolled his eyes and stepped out of her way. "You're welcome," he added.

She batted her eyes at him. "Thank you," she said sweetly.

He shook his head. Sometimes she was just too much. He took the couple of steps over to where his mother was standing after getting out of the car. He shut her door and then slipped his arm around hers, smiling at her.

She returned the smile, noticing that his didn't quite reach his eyes. The sadness and determination were still there, but, she had to admit, better hidden, more neutral. She remembered a time when she could easily read everything in his eyes; when he was completely incapable of hiding anything from her. She wondered when he'd learned to cover up so much of what he felt. Was it in the FBI? Was it in playing high level sports? Was it earlier, when he'd learned to be so independent because of all the time that they spent on Charlie? She bit her lip for a moment, thinking that she'd taken that openness away from him; that ability to share that part of himself. Then she saw the concern flash across his face.

"Mom?" he asked.

She made a concerted effort to relax her expression. She didn't want to worry him more. "I'm fine, sweetheart. I just remembered something that I forgot to do. No big deal. I'll take care of it later." Maybe he had learned to cover up things from her, just not in the way she'd thought.

"Are you sure? I mean…"

She looked him in the eye again "I'm fine. Please, don't worry so much."

He looked away and gave a small nod. "Okay."

"Now, let's get you some food," she said, giving his arm a slight tug to direct him towards the restaurant.

He gave her another small smile. "Yeah." He escorted her to the front door, following behind his father, brother and sister.

They entered the softly lit lobby. "Ah, it's the Eppes," the hostess said. She did a quick count. "The entire family this time."

"Yes," his father answered. "Donnie's home for the weekend."

"That's great," she answered. "Let me get a table ready for you. It'll just take a minute."

"Thanks," he responded.

A few moments later, she returned and then took them to their table, a round, candlelit table, set near the back center of the dining room. He followed his mother to her chosen seat and pulled her chair out for her.

She sat down in the offered chair and gave him her best proud mother smile. There was certainly one thing that they didn't mess up with him. Even with the work that he did and the awful things he had to deal with on a regular basis, he'd never lost his manners, his old-fashioned (in the very best way) manners. And she loved that about him.

He moved to pull out his own chair but before he had a chance to sit down, he noticed his brother and sister starting in with each other.

"I'm not sitting next to you. You throw food," Charlie said.

"Oh, please. I haven't thrown food at you since I was like two or something," she said.

"Hardly. Remember last Thanksgiving?"

She rolled her eyes. "I did **not** throw food **at** you. You asked for a roll. I threw one **to** you. It's not my fault that you're so uncoordinated that you didn't catch it and that it bounced off of you instead."

"You know what, Julie, come sit by me," he said. "Such children," he mumbled. "You'd think at some point at least he'd grow up."

She sat down in the chair he'd pulled out for himself and he sat down next to her, his father next to him and Charlie between their parents. Just like they'd sat for years at their own dining room table. They picked up their menus and started perusing through them. After a moment, he put the menu down. He didn't even know why he bothered to look. He already knew what he wanted

"The steak pizziola?" his mother asked.

"Of course. I still haven't found a good one in Albuquerque." He reached for the basket of rolls that had been put on the table and took one. He looked over at his sister. "If I hand this to you, do you promise not to throw any of them?"

She scrunched up her nose. "Ha ha. You think you're so funny, don't you?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

She took the basket from him. "Gimme." She took a roll and then passed the basket around him to her father.

"Thank you," he said. "I'd like to think that I'm done sitting at a table having meals with toddlers."

"Funny, Daddy. Very funny."

He watched the scene go on between them, but suddenly it became almost as though the sound was muted. He became lost in his own headspace, thoughts pounding away at him. He tried to focus on what they were saying, what they were doing, but for the moment it seemed like a losing battle. He couldn't take it. He got up from the table.

"Donnie?" his father asked.

"Bathroom," he responded quickly. "Too much coffee on the plane."

His father looked at him closely. He felt like he were ten again and in trouble the way he was looking at him. Why did he feel guilty all of a sudden? He hadn't done anything.

"Okay," he said slowly.

"Be right back," he said over his shoulder as he walked towards the facilities. He could feel his father's eyes following him. What he didn't realize was that his sister's gaze followed him as well.

A few minutes later, after using the bathroom and splashing some water on his face, he returned to the table, determined to at least put on a good show. "Get it together, Eppes," he thought. He smiled when he saw all their eyes turn towards him. "Much better," he said, sitting down. "You never know when the coffee's going to hit. It can get awkward during surveillance if you aren't careful."

"Good to know," his father answered, still giving him that same look.

Their waitress came over to take their order before any other comments could be made. With the task complete and the menus collected another moment of anticipatory silence fell over them. But it was only a moment before Margaret broke the silence.

"So, Charlie how was school today?" she asked.

Charlie seemed to think for a moment. "Well, I had this very interesting encounter with one of my students in my advanced number theory class. She had come up with this fascinating approach to a problem we were working on. It was wrong, but the thinking was so creative, that I just needed to discuss it with her. You know, about how she saw this line of inquiry…"

He started to drift again. Of course, this time it was due more to the fact that Charlie was about to launch into a discussion on things about which he had absolutely no comprehension. Really, that happened a lot when Charlie started talking about school or his work. He'd long ago, honestly, back when they were kids, learned to put a neutral expression on his face, nod occasionally and once in a while add a "Really?" or "Huh." There had been a time when he'd tried to understand, to pay real attention to this thing in his brother's life, but it so quickly went beyond anything he even had any language for, that he just gave up. It wouldn't ever be something that remotely related to **his** life and work and so something he had no real need to figure out.

"Charlie," he heard his sister whine, pulling his mind back to the table. "Do you get that none of us have any clue what you're talking about. Why do you keep doing this to us?"

He almost laughed. She sounded just like she had when she was a pre-schooler and she didn't know what was going on.

"I was **asked** about my day. I am talking about my day."

She pouted. "Can't you just say, 'Fine' or something like most people?"

"Julie," her mother said softly. "I asked him the question. It's up to him as to how he wishes to answer it."

"But can't he answer it in a way that isn't so torturous?"

"He can answer however he'd like," she repeated. "Just like you can."

She snorted. "Fine. Whatever."

"Is it always like this?" he asked his father quietly, not wanting his sister to hear.

He shook his head. "Not usually, but we don't sit down for a meal together as much as we used to."

The waitress brought their drinks and a minute later, their garlic bread and appetizers. It gave them something else on which to focus, an even more neutral topic on which to talk. Of course, the beer he ordered helped, too.

And they did talk; about work and school, about food, about the gossip from the neighborhood. About Julie learning to drive, about Charlie's latest paper. About so many things. So many typical, normal, useless things. They laughed and they smiled. They told stories. He tried to stay engaged, tried to act like this was any other meal on any other visit. But it wasn't. And he knew it. And he knew that they all knew it, too.


	4. Chess Boards and Hairbrushes

The key turned in the lock, opening the front door of the Craftsman and they shuffled in, slightly sleepy from all the food that they'd eaten and the warmth of the car. Don headed over to the couch and plopped down on it, sinking into the cushions, sighing as he did so. He just couldn't get a meal like that back in Albuquerque. He sighed again, leaning his head back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. Just too much food. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to move for a good long while.

He felt the couch move as his sister dropped down on the seat next to him. He groaned. "Don't do that."

She bounced again. "Play with me," she said.

"Stop," he groaned. He couldn't imagine how she could have that kind of energy right now. He opened one eye. "Play with you? What are you, four?"

"You know what I mean, like chess or cards or something," she said.

"I think all of those options require me to sit up. I don't think I can."

She nestled in closer to him. "Please?" she asked quietly.

God, he had a hard time resisting when she did that. He made the effort to push himself up. "Okay. Get the board."

She smiled at him. "Thank you," she said softly, getting up to get the chessboard and pieces.

"Sweetheart, what about your homework," their mother asked from the foyer.

"Mom, it's Friday. And Don's home for the weekend," she answered.

"I know. But that doesn't change the fact that you have homework and you aren't going to leave it until Sunday night. You know the rules," her mother said patiently.

"But Mom…," she started, looking over to her brother.

"Don't look at me," he said. "Those rules are older than you are. They're almost as old as I am." He clearly remembered his parents' rules about doing homework He also remembered breaking them a few times and getting caught trying to stay up late Sunday night to finish and his mother taking his school stuff and putting it on the downstairs table and sending him to bed. "Consequences for your actions," she'd told him when he'd made excuses. Consequences for sure. It had been a big essay that he hadn't finished.

"Julie, what do you have to get done this weekend," she asked.

"I have to finish another section of that infernal book for English class. We have a quiz on Monday or Tuesday. And I have some math and some chemistry," she sighed. There was no sense in not telling the truth. She'd get caught anyway.

"Will you at least get some of the reading done tonight, please. And what book is it anyway?" she asked calmly.

"That awful 'Emma'. I hate that book," she said firmly, continuing to get the chess pieces together.

"You're reading 'Emma'? I loved that book," her mother said.

"Well I don't. I just want to slap her every time she opens her mouth."

She smiled at her daughter's vehement dislike of a fictional character. At least she was engaged enough to have an opinion. "You know, a great many people enjoy 'Emma'. I think Ms. Parker thought your class would get a lot out of it."

"Is that the same Ms. Parker I had for junior Lit?" he asked. "She was ancient when I had her."

She shook her head. "Yes, it's the same Ms. Parker. And she wasn't ancient then. She just seemed that way because you were sixteen. And I seem to remember you giving her a pretty hard time," his mother said, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

He blushed slightly and shifted on the couch. "Well, I don't remember it quite that way," he said.

"Hummm. I bet you don't. Do the detentions that you got from her every week ring a bell?"

He made a face. "I remember the paper airplanes that I made in detention."

"Lovely. I'm glad I didn't know that then." She looked back at her daughter. "You need to get at least some of the reading done tonight."

"One game first?" she asked.

She nodded. "One. But then you need to get it done." She knew she was giving in to her daughter. She had the sense that that might be happening a lot in the near future.

"Okay." She set the board up on the coffee table by the couch and pulled the chair over in front of it

She watched her son and daughter start their game, both their dark heads leaning in towards the board. For two people who seemed so entirely different, they were so much alike, her eldest and her youngest. He'd always been intense but not difficult, active, bright and independent. She was softer, more open, always wanting to talk and share, always wanting the people in her life near her. She loved art and color and movement, her passions visible to anyone who spent much time with her. He was practical, straight forward and for years shared his passions only with those closest to him, and not always even then. But when they were together…She just couldn't explain it; she just felt it. And she knew that they did, too.

Charlie **was **different. He sat at the dining room table, oblivious to what was going on, focused solely on the papers he was grading. And as different as Don and Julie were from each other, he was that much different from both of them. Of course, they all shared the same stubborn streak. The "Eppes Stubbornness" as it was referred to by many people. In reality, it should probably have been named the "Mann Stubbornness" because, as Alan often reminded her, they got that from her, not from him, although he could dig in his heels pretty well when he wanted.

She looked from Charlie back over to Don and Julie, intent in their game. She'd spent so much time with Charlie; he'd needed her so much, and she'd long ago decided that she would never regret that choice. But Don and Julie had needed her, too. Maybe that is what she saw as being so alike in them. They'd both learned, Don quietly, without fanfare or complaint and Julie, with the occasional little girl tears for her mommy but her father's constant presence, to do what they needed to do, to enjoy the moments they had. Don, being the oldest, had had to learn it on his own; Julie had at least had Don to show her the way, even if there were fifteen years between them. She wondered on occasion what would have happened, how things might have been different, if Don hadn't been so independent, if even just once he'd had a tantrum or stomped his feet or just said "No, don't go". But he never had. She supposed that at some level she'd followed his lead, waiting for him to tell her that he needed her, but he hadn't. She knew it wasn't fair to make him responsible that way, but she had, they both had.

And then, all of sudden, she realized how tired she was, how much this evening had taken out of her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. She opened her eyes and went over to Don and Julie. She kissed the top of her daughter's head. "Remember, just this game. You still have your reading to do," she said softly. She saw the wide, dark eyes focus on her own, holding her gaze for just a moment before looking back towards the chessboard. She nodded slightly. "I know," she said gently, not a hint of defiance or stubbornness in her tone.

She looked over and saw Don watching her. She reached over and ran her hand over his hair. "I'll be upstairs," she told him. Like his sister, his eyes focused on hers, his gaze more questioning. "I have some reading to do," she told him. His eyes remained focused on hers. For just a moment, she wondered, probably for the first time, how many suspects broke under his gaze. Because even his gentle questioning look seemed so intense to her. She ran her hand over his hair again, giving him just a hint of a smile before heading to the table where Charlie still sat grading.

He kept watching her even as she walked away. "Don," he heard. He looked at his sister. "It's your move," she said. He looked back at his mother one more time. He paused. "Yeah," he said, turning back to the board.

She stood behind Charlie and rested her hand on his shoulder as not to startle him too much. "Good night, Sweets. Don't stay up too late. Your grading will still be there in the morning," she told him.

"Huh? What? Yeah," he said as he slowly transitioned his focus from his work to her and what she'd said, although his mind never quite left the papers in front of him. It took another moment before it sunk in. "Oh, are you going to bed already?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. It seemed early for that, but he recognized that he didn't always have the best concept of time when he got involved in his work. It could be much later than he thought.

"I'm going to do some reading," she said, beginning to almost believe her own cover story, even though Charlie wouldn't need one from her.

"Oh. Okay," he answered, his mind already drifting back to the student work in front of him. He wanted to get this done so he could focus on some work of his own. He had some interesting ideas on a couple of theories that he wanted to start working through.

She recognized the look. His focus was drifting back to his work. She gave a quick shake of her head. It was nice to know that there were some things on which you could always depend, and Charlie's focus drifting back to the world of his numbers was one of them.

She looked over to her husband. Alan, after hanging up his jacket, had headed for his chair and the newspaper, per his usual routine. She decided she really didn't have the energy to head back over to where he was. "Alan," she said. "I'm going upstairs."

He looked up, putting down his paper. More than thirty years of marriage had taught him what her look meant. Just as it had taught her to read his. "Okay," he said. No other words were necessary. They both understood.

She headed up the stairs, feeling the fatigue building in her body, her legs seeming heavier as she took each step. She finally made it to their room and she sat down on the bed, giving her pounding heart time to slow. She hadn't felt quite like this, even last week. She wondered if knowing you were sick made you feel worse or at least more aware of how bad you felt. She took a deep breath and then a second one. She leaned back, laying across the bed. She didn't have the energy at this point to move to her side of the bed. Or do anything else.

She continued to lay there, sometimes with her eyes closed, sometimes staring at the ceiling. At some point, she heard Julie come up the steps and head to her room. She listened to her daughter moving around, in her mind's eye watching her change into her sweats, take off her jewelry, go through her schoolbooks, and settle into her window seat. She could see her as clearly as if she were in front of her, curled up with her English book, making a face as she opened it.

After a short time, she got up and headed to her daughter's room. She stood in the doorway for a few minutes, actually watching what she'd been imagining. Julie was sitting in the corner of her window seat, back resting against her cushions, knees up, book in hand. She finally looked up, realizing that her mother was watching her. She held up the book. "I'm reading it," she said.

"I can tell," she answered. She stepped into the room, picking up the comb and brush sitting on the little dressing table. She moved over to the old rocking chair and sat down. "Come here," she said softly.

She slid off the seat, put the book down and sat back down on the footstool in front of the rocker. She took the elastic out of her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders in a dark mass. Her mother put the brush down next to her on the footstool, keeping the silver comb in her hand. She started at the bottom, gently combing through the curled ends, working her way up through her thick, baby-soft hair. It had been an almost daily ritual when she was little; her mother taking time most mornings to carefully do her hair, often in the pig tails that she'd favored. It was a much rarer occurrence now, but one still enjoyed by them both when they had the time.

She sat quietly, eyes closed, just focusing on the feeling of her mother's fingers and the comb working through her hair. She felt some of the tension of the week, the day, the evening leave her, as if the comb was casting it out of her through her hair. Her heart slowed, her shoulders relaxed and her mind started to drift. At first, it went to dinner and her brothers, but it came to rest on the day, earlier in the week, when she also sat in her room with her mother.

She knew that no matter what else ever happened in her life, that she would remember that discussion. She'd been sitting in her window seat, working on her homework, much like she had just been doing. Her mother came in, a serious expression on her face.

"We need to talk," she said quietly, seriously as she sat down next to her on the bench.

"I didn't do it," was her response.

Her mother looked at her strangely. "Didn't do what?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is that you want to talk about."

"Julie, if you did something that you want to confess to, this would be an excellent time to do it."

"I didn't do anything. You just look like I did something and that I'm in trouble for it. But I don't think I did anything."

Her mother shook her head. "Julie, this is giving me a headache. Did you do anything that I should know about?"

"No. I didn't do anything," she said frustratingly.

She saw her mother close her eyes and take a deep breath. "Okay." She took another breath. "That's not why I came in here to talk to you." Her mother took her hand. "There's something else we need to talk about."

She felt her heart beat faster. There was something in the way her mother was looking at her that worried her, even scared her a little. "What?"

She squeezed her hand. "You know that I've had several doctor's appointments recently…"

She gave a tight little nod. She didn't think there was any way that this conversation could go that she would like.

"…and I've had some tests…"

Now she was sure that she didn't like where this was going.

"…and Daddy and I met with my doctor this morning and he gave us a diagnosis…"

Diagnosis. That meant there was something to diagnose.

"Julie…" she squeezed her hand again.

She felt like she couldn't breathe. She didn't want to hear this.

"…Sweetheart, I have cancer. Uterine cancer…"

Now she really couldn't breathe. And she wasn't sure, but she thought that maybe her heart had stopped beating.

"…It's going to be okay, my sweet girl. I'll be okay…"

Now her heart was pounding. She could feel it, hear it echoing in her ears. "Mom," she whispered.

Her mother kept her hand and started stroking her hair with the other. "Julie, I'll get through this. I'll be alright." She moved her hand from her hair to her chin, holding it so she was looking into her eyes. "I'm not leaving you, my sweet girl. I won't leave you."

A part of her just wanted to curl up in her mother's arms and cry. But another part of her didn't want to do that, didn't want to make it that **present** in her life; if she cried about it than it would be real. If she didn't, then it could just sort of stay 'out there' somewhere.

"I have another appointment with the doctor scheduled where we'll talk about what the plans are going to be and we'll talk all about that this weekend when your brother gets here."

"Don?" she asked. "Don's coming home?" Her eyes got wide. Her brother didn't come home for just any reason.

Her hand moved from her chin back to stroking her hair. "Yes. He'll be here Friday night for the weekend. Daddy and I thought it would be easier that way. Instead of trying to remember who told who what, we'll all just talk about it together, all at once. That way everyone knows everything," she said calmly

"But, Mom…," she whispered, her voice wavering.

"Sh, Sweetheart." She moved closer, letting go of her hand and wrapping her arm around her instead. She rocked her just a little. "It'll be okay, my sweet girl." She kissed the top of her head. "It'll be okay."

She opened her eyes. Her mother was still combing her hair. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. "Mommy," she whispered. She felt the tears starting to build in her eyes.

Her mother put down the little silver comb and picked up the brush. She started to smooth the dark, silky strands with the silver baby brush. "It's okay, Julie. It's okay." She continued to run the brush over her hair. "You know, I'm not going anywhere. I need to be here for those ten grandchildren you promised me."

She nodded slightly, remembering that she told her mother that she was going to have ten children. "Well, I'm your only chance," she said softly. "The boys are hopeless."

"I still have some hope for them. It's never too late."

"If you say so," she whispered.

"I do." She put the brush down, smoothed the last strands with her hand, tucking the stray pieces behind her ears. "There. All set." She kissed the top of her head. "Why don't you get ready for bed."

She nodded. "Okay." She didn't get up from the footstool. She just stared out into space, not wanting to move, to change anything else.

"Julie, honey, bed. You have practice tomorrow."

She nodded again. "I have to be on the court ready to go by 9:00."

"One of us will get up and take you, probably either your father or Don."

She shook her head. "You don't need to. Annie's mother is driving."

"We can take care of it. Annie's mother doesn't have to." She hated feeling like she was a bad carpool mom, that they couldn't take care of that basic thing.

"It's fine. Her brother has some Boy Scout thing or something so she has to get up and take him anyway and she's going to go right by here. I mean, she asked me."

She sighed. "Okay. Just make sure you're ready so they don't have to wait."

"Yeah," she said softly, still not moving.

Her mother stepped in front of her. "Bedtime," she said.

She looked up at her mother and nodded again. She got up this time.

Her mother caressed her cheek. "Goodnight, my sweet girl."

"Goodnight, Mom," she whispered. She watched her leave and head back to her own room, closing the door to the master bedroom behind her. 

**AN: **Cannon tells us that Margaret had cancer, but not which type. I honestly just decided to choose something that "the guys" wouldn't likely ever mention...


	5. Good Night

"Donnie, what are you still doing up?" his father asked, coming in to the TV room.

He was sprawled out across the chair, staring blankly at the game he'd turned on, the glow of the TV the only light in the room. "Couldn't really sleep." He rested his head on the back of the chair.

His father sat down in the other chair. "Don."

He shut his eyes. "I told Mom I'd come home," he whispered.

"You don't have to make that decision now. We're going to talk about everything…"

"I know. But I told her I would…And I will." He took a breath. "Family first," he said, in a barely audible voice.

But his father had heard him. He sighed. How many sacrifices would they ask their eldest son to make? How many times would he choose, asked or not, to do what was best for them without much, if any, consideration about what was best for himself or what he wanted? He was proud of the man his son was, his selflessness, his strength, but he also knew that there was a price. Don believed too strongly that he could take care of himself, that he could get through anything on his own. But he couldn't. No one could. If he were being honest with himself, though, he would admit that again, they would depend on Don's strength, his independence. It wasn't fair to him. He knew that, but it would happen anyway. "Donnie…" Somehow he needed to at least acknowledge what his son was doing, what he might be giving up.

"Dad, I don't really want to talk right now. It's been a long day."

He nodded. "Okay." He knew that that was probably his cue to leave, but he wasn't quite ready to go. He missed his son and wanted some time with him, even if it were in silence, with only the muted sounds of the ballgame in the room. He'd been away far too long.

He tried not be overly aware and self-conscious of the fact that his father was sitting next to him in silence, watching him. He wanted to go up to bed and get some much needed rest, but he knew that he was still at the point where he'd just be staring up at the ceiling, waiting for his mind to settle down enough to sleep. He'd spent too much time this evening pretending, pretending that everything was okay, that they were just out for a family dinner. There were moments where he wasn't trying, where the comments and the laughter were real, just them being who they were, and him responding. Most of the time, though, his smile was forced, and he was only half listening to what was going on. But he tried. He tried because that's what she wanted, what his mother needed from him. And he'd play the role for her. It had left him both wired and drained, though, which he knew from experience would leave him unable to sleep for quite awhile.

He tried to focus on the game in front of him, tried to lose himself in baseball, like he had so many times in his life. But it wasn't working. The familiar rhythm of pitcher and catcher, batters and fielders couldn't keep his attention. His mind kept going back to the phone call that brought him here, the scramble to get a flight, the seemingly endless trip, that in reality was only about 2 hours. He kept hearing his parents' words echoing through his brain. "…Cancer…We should all sit down to talk, together…When do you think you can come…" He shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

He noticed the gesture. He knew by the way that Don did it that he was trying to clear his head. Of all the things that had changed in him over the years, there were some habits, quirks, that hadn't changed. The way he ran his hand through his hair when he was bothered. The obsessive checking of his watch when he was stressed. And the quick, short shake of his head when he was trying to clear his head, whether from thoughts or cobwebs. A slight smile crossing his face. At least some things about his eldest weren't a mystery to him. His son was tired, stressed and he was pretty sure that he could make a fairly accurate assumption about what he was trying to clear from his head. The smile faded, replaced by a growing sense of guilt; his mind going back to what his son might be giving up. He had his own life in Albuquerque, a career, a fiancé. What would she think about his decision? And then he realized that he couldn't even make a guess as to what she'd think. He didn't really know the woman his son intended to marry, other than she was also an FBI agent and that her name was Kim. He sighed, shaking his head. "Donnie," he mumbled.

He looked over at his father. "Did you say something?" he asked.

"Ummm. No. Nothing." This wasn't the time to get into that discussion. It was late, they were both tired and he didn't think his son would take kindly to the questions he felt like he needed to ask. He sighed again. He pushed himself up out of his chair so he could go upstairs to bed. He stopped behind his son's chair, putting his hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "Good night," he paused. "Try not to stay up too late." He couldn't help himself. Don may be a grown man, but he was still **his** child.

"Yeah… Good night, Dad," he responded.

He headed up the stairs, stopping part way up to look back at Don, slouched in his chair, staring blankly at the flickering screen. He continued up the steps to the hallway, where he noted that while Charlie's door was shut, there was light coming from under it and that there was an occasional creak of his chair from behind it. He was still up, probably at his desk, working on who knows what. He took a few more steps down the hall and paused in front of his daughter's door. It was open a crack, so he peaked in. Julie was sound asleep, curled up in her comforter, face buried in her pillow. He smiled, pulling the door shut. At least one of their children had found a way to sleep.

He continued down to his room. He pushed the door open softly, expecting that Margaret would be asleep as she had been when he went downstairs to check the house for the night. He shut the door. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming back," he heard her say.

He looked at her. "I thought you were asleep," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I heard you get up. But when you didn't come back, I wondered if something was wrong." She sat up, pulling the blankets with her and leaning against the headboard. "Are the kids okay?"

"Julie's down for the night. Charlie's in his room, door's closed but his light is still on. It sounded like he was working on something. Who knows how long he'll be going. Donnie," he paused. "Donnie's up. He's downstairs with the TV on, watching a ball game. Or at least pretending to."

"He's had a long day. He needs to get some sleep." She looked up at him. "Will he?"

He shrugged. "He said he couldn't sleep." He looked her in the eye, taking a deep breath. "When were you going to tell me what he told you? That he was coming home?"

Her dark eyes widened. "He told you?" she whispered.

"Yes, he did. When were you?" he repeated softly but with a slight edge in his voice.

"Tomorrow."

"Margaret," he started.

"Alan, I wanted one dinner, one evening with my husband and children. Is that too much to ask for? I mean our world is going to go to hell. I just wanted one night. Just one." Her eyes filled with tears. She pulled up her knees, wrapped her arms around them, resting her head on her arms

"Margaret," he said again, softer, gentler than he had before, walking over to her side of the bed and sitting on the edge. He started to rub the back of her neck. In the four days since they'd met with her doctor and he'd given them the diagnosis, she'd been the pillar of strength, making appointments and phone calls, talking with both Julie and Charlie, and just in general trying to take care of things. But, he realized, even her strength could only go so far. Their reality was becoming, well, too real, brought home by Don's arrival. Their eldest was home for a reason. He knew what it was, they all did. They couldn't live in their denial any longer.

"My baby's home," she whispered.

"Yes, he is." He got up from the bed, took a couple of steps towards her dressing table and looked at the pictures sitting on one side. Pictures of when the kids were young. Julie at her second birthday party, playing with bubbles; Charlie as a toddler playing in the sand by the ocean; Don at three sitting in a blanket and cushion fort built in their living room. There were also a couple of others, Charlie graduating from Princeton, Don's senior picture from Cal State Fullerton, Julie dressed up for her eighth grade dance. She'd made such an effort to keep the pictures even, balanced between the kids. But there was one additional picture that sat in a small oval frame, a picture that had gone everywhere with her for more than thirty years; Don at six weeks, curled up on his blanket asleep in the late summer sun. Her baby.

He picked up the small frame and smiled at the picture of their firstborn. So many people in their lives seemed to forget that for five years Don was an only child, the center of their lives, her one and only, her baby. He still remembered the day when Don calmly but purposefully went up to his mother, not long after he turned five and announced to her that he didn't want her to call him baby anymore. She'd thought that it had something to do with the fact that she was pregnant and that he might be jealous of the soon-to-arrive little brother or sister, but he told her very clearly that it was because he was going to be in kindergarten and going to big school and that that wasn't something that babies did. She'd smiled and asked him if he were sure. He'd nodded very seriously and she'd told him okay. She'd continued to smile as she'd headed upstairs then went to her room, closed the door, curled up on the bed and cried on and off, mostly on, for almost an hour.

He put the picture down and looked back at his wife. "When did he tell you?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him. "Just after he got here, when I came downstairs. You were putting Julie's things that she'd dumped in the foyer in the living room."

"I thought we weren't going to ask him. I thought we were all going to talk first before we came to any decisions," he said gently.

"I didn't ask him, Alan," she said, tension starting to rise in her voice. "I didn't bring anything up. He just said it." She put her head back down. "I didn't want to talk about it. I still don't."

"He's going to give up so much…"

She looked up at him. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think that I realize that he's been making sacrifices for us for years? I don't want this to be this way! Do you…"

"Margaret," he interrupted, raising his eyebrows. She'd started to get louder and he didn't want to take the chance that the kids would hear them. It was a longstanding agreement between them that their children wouldn't be privy to their issues, that anything resembling a fight or disagreement would be handled in private, between them, or be a discussion about something else entirely. And it had worked for more than thirty years. There was never any indication that their kids knew about any of the tensions that had existed at various times in their marriage and as far as he was concerned, that wouldn't change now.

"I know. I'm sorry." She put her head down again.

He went to his side of the bed, climbed in and moved towards her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She shifted to him, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head. "Do you know how much I love you?" he whispered.

She snuggled closer. She wanted to be safe in his arms, wanted him to make the outside world go away, if even just for a little while. She loved him and she knew that he loved her. She knew that whatever they'd been through, whatever was still to come, that they had and would do it together; they'd made it through the years apart when she was at Princeton with Charlie and he was home with Julie. They could do this.

"Do you remember when we first moved in here?" she asked.

"Yes. Don was four, almost five and you were pregnant with Charlie."

"Remember how Don ran from room to room looking out all the windows? Back and forth, back and forth, trying to see which ones he liked best?" she smiled at the memory. "I thought he'd wear himself out and that it'd be easier to get him to take his nap. But no. He was too excited. Round and round, back and forth. I was exhausted just watching him."

He smiled as well, remembering the preschooler's boundless energy. He'd been a sensitive, considerate little boy, but when he got going, it seemed nearly impossible to keep up with him. Sports had been a godsend with him; a place to channel all that energy. "He could be quite a handful when he wanted to be. I still remember the pediatrician calling him the most stubborn child he'd ever encountered."

"And Charlie was the second."

He nodded. "I remember that Charlie wouldn't let him look in his ears because he might see the thinking going on." He snorted. "It's amazing that they didn't hang up the phone every time we tried to make an appointment."

"And that they took Julie," she responded. She reached her arm around his waist.

"She was a dream for them compared to the boys." He paused. "Our lives aren't going to hell. We're going to get through this," he whispered to her. "We'll be okay."

She nodded slightly, not wanting to move, wanting instead to be lost in the memories of a more innocent time.

He kissed the top of her head again. "Let's get some sleep," he said softly. "It's been a long day." He tried to move away slightly so that he could reach the lamp on his bedside table. However, she kept her arm around him, not letting him go. "I'm just turning off the light," he said.

"No," she whispered. "Leave it alone." She stayed close to him.

"Okay." He stroked her hair. If she wanted the light, he'd leave it on for her. He slid under the covers. She shifted as he did, resting her head on his chest, nestled against him. She wanted to stay like this forever; her husband's arms around her in their bed, her children home and safe. She wanted to feel his strength, his warmth, to know that he'd never leave her, that no matter what happened, he would stay. She wanted to know that she'd grow old with him, that together they would watch their children get married, that together they would fuss over their grandchildren. Suddenly, she turned her head, burying her face in him.

He felt her shift, felt a slight shake of her shoulders. He felt the warm dampness of her tears through his shirt. He rubbed her back. "Shhh," he consoled. "It's okay. It's okay." He felt her hand grip his shirt. For a moment, he had a flash of memory, of how each of the children as babies had wrapped their little fingers into his shirt as he held them. He caught his breath then wrapped his arms around her. She started to cry harder. "Darling," he whispered. "My darling Margaret." He knew at some point the tears would come, they had to. But it didn't make it any easier. He held her tighter.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered through her tears. "Please don't ever leave me."

"Never," he told her gently, but firmly. "You're stuck with me for as long as you'll have me."

"I can't do this alone," she sobbed softly. "I just can't. I don't know what to do."

"You aren't going to do this alone, Margaret. You have me. I'm not going anywhere. And you've got the kids. You won't be alone"

"Alan…" She held on to him tighter. She was overwhelmed by all the thoughts and emotions pulsing through her head. It made it hard to think, to breathe, to process. That's what she needed to do, think; make this all make sense. But all she could do was cry. Cry and hold on to him. "Alan…"

He stood outside their door, rooted in place. He could hear his mother crying, his father speaking softly to her, although he couldn't make out the words. He'd finally found himself tired enough to try going to bed, but when he passed by his parents' room… He looked down the hall towards his own room, his mother's tears echoing in his head. He turned back around and headed back down the stairs.


	6. Long Night's Journey Into Day pt 1

It took a couple of more hours before he was again ready to sleep, before he stopped hearing her crying in his head. He finally wandered back up the stairs, feeling like he'd been going for days; his eyes burning from lack of sleep, his head pounding. He went by their room, not hearing anything this time. His brother and sister's doors were also closed, lights off; he was the last one up. He crawled into his childhood bed, feeling simultaneously both very old and very young as he stared up at the familiar ceiling. At last, his eyes drifted closed.

A few short hours later, he was up again, the morning sun shining through his windows. He was only slightly less tired than when he went to bed the night (or early morning, actually) before. He rolled over and pushed himself up, leaning against his headboard. He heard a single beep of a car horn outside followed by the front door opening and then closing. He thought for a moment, then realized that his sister must be leaving for tennis practice. He looked over at the bedside clock. At this point, there was no way that he was going to be able to go back to sleep, no matter how tired he still was. He sighed, rolled out of bed and headed downstairs.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, he heard noise coming from the kitchen. He went in and saw his father puttering around, looking up when he heard him enter.

"Morning, Donnie," he said, studying him. "Did you get any sleep?"

"A little. There any coffee?" he asked.

He felt his father studying him, could almost hear him thinking that the last thing he needed was coffee; that more sleep would be much more appropriate. "I was just about to make some."

"Industrial strength, if possible."

"I'll make regular instead of decaf, but that's as far as I'll go," he answered. "The rest of us have to drink it."

He put his elbows on the island and rubbed his face. "It'll do."

"You know, you could go sleep for a few more hours," he pressed. "Better choice than the coffee."

He shook his head. "Not going to happen, Dad."

His father sighed. Why did all three of the kids have to inherit that stubbornness? "It'll be a few minutes before it's ready."

"I'll survive until then." He pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead trying to ease his building headache. He already didn't like the way this day was going. And it was only going to get worse.

"Don…," his father started.

The kitchen door swung open. "Good morning, you two," his mother said.

He looked over at her, the memory of hearing her crying the night before flooded back into his mind. His cheeks flushed slightly, knowing that he'd been eavesdropping, that he was never supposed to have heard her. "Morning." He rubbed his hands over his face again, trying to cover the heat coming from them.

She gave him a sidelong glance. Something seemed off with him. "I assume Julie left?" she asked.

"I heard her leave. At least I think it was her…"

"Well, your brother's not up yet and your sister's room is empty. So, I think we can make that assumption," his father said. He paused. "When will she be back?"

"Between 11 and 12, I think," she answered. She looked over at the pot brewing on the counter. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

"It's leaded," she heard her son say.

She looked at him and smiled. "That's fine. I'm having tea anyway."

"Really? Since when?" He'd learned to drink coffee from her. She'd given him his first cup, black, when he was sixteen.

"Almost a year now. It's supposed to be better for you," she said, then realized the irony of the statement. She put the kettle on the stove to heat.

He looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling very awkward. "Yeah."

She passed by him on the way to the cabinet, putting her hand on his shoulder for a moment as she did, attempting to reassure him. "It's fine," she whispered.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

She opened the cabinet, took out a mug and the box of teabags. She turned back around. She held the items in her hands, watching her husband and son. She looked up and caught Alan's eye and raised her eyebrows. They both looked over at their son, still leaning against the island. Alan nodded.

"Don, there's some stuff that your mother and I need to go over with you and Charlie while you're both here together. It'll be easier to do while Julie's out," he said.

He straightened up, looking first at his mother and then his father. "What kind of stuff?" he said a tinge of concern in his voice.

"Paperwork. Insurance stuff, safety deposit boxes, wills. That kind of thing…"

"What? Wills? What else don't I…"

"Don," his mother interrupted. "It's okay. I'm a lawyer…"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he interrupted back.

She took a deep breath. "It means that we've had wills drawn up since you were a baby. That's not really a big deal. We should have talked with both of you about these things a long time ago. We just never quite got around it."

"And this just seemed to be as good a time as any?" he asked, sarcasm creeping into his voice. He knew, could hear his conscience telling him, that he didn't need to be sarcastic, that really this was something that needed to be done, but he was tired and he was stressed and the filter between his brain and his mouth wasn't really working the way that it should.

"Don…," his father started, a slight warning tone in his voice.

"Alan, it's alright," she said calmly, putting down the mug and teabags. She took the few steps over to her son and rested her hand on his arm. "We haven't had a lot of time together the past few years and honestly, I didn't want to waste what we had on this kind of thing. But we should have. And since we didn't do it before, we need to do it now. You're here, Charlie's here. So we just need to do it."

He dropped his head and shut his eyes. He knew that she was right. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, to pull himself together. He felt her give his arm a gentle squeeze to reassure him. And all he could think in that moment was that she shouldn't have to reassure him; he should be reassuring her. He nodded.

She looked back over at her husband. "Can you make sure Charlie's up?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he whispered and headed out of the kitchen.

And then there was silence. Mother and son standing alone together; neither saying a word. Neither knowing what else to say. Finally, she went over to the coffee pot and poured him a cup, setting it in front of him on the island. He picked it up and took a sip, the hot liquid burning his throat and stomach, relieving some of the chill he had started to feel. "Thanks," he whispered.

"You're welcome."

The kettle started to whistle. She put a teabag in her mug and took it to the stove, pouring the hot water in. She watched the tea steep, poking at the teabag with a spoon. She wanted to say something more to her eldest child, something to help him, but she knew that it would take more than simple reassurances or clichés. And at the moment, she honestly didn't have anything else. She looked up from her mug, watching him stare into his coffee.

The silence was broken a moment later when Alan came back through the kitchen door. "Charlie will be down in a minute," he said.

Don put down his coffee and went to the cabinet where the cereal was kept. He examined the boxes and pulled one down. He went to another cabinet and grabbed a bowl and then a spoon from a drawer underneath. He turned and noticed that both of his parents were watching him. "Breakfast," he said simply.

"We can tell," his father said.

He took the bowl, spoon and cereal to the dining room table and then came back and got the milk from the refrigerator and his coffee from the island. He took them both and set them on the table as well. He sat down, poured some cereal and milk into his bowl and started to eat. His parents followed with their own mugs, sitting down in their usual seats at each end of the table. A moment later, Charlie came down the steps, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Made. In the kitchen," his father answered. "It's not decaf," he added.

Charlie gave Don a quick look. "His influence," he thought. Rarely, if ever, was the coffee caffeinated. He didn't even realize that they had anything but decaf in the house.

He went into the kitchen and poured his own cup of coffee and grabbed another bowl and spoon from the cabinets. He went back to the dining room and sat down in his seat, reaching across the table to grab the cereal and milk and pouring some for himself. He began eating, watching his brother from across the table and recognizing that their parents were watching them both.

Alan and Margaret exchanged glances, nodding slightly to each other. Alan took a sip from his coffee, cleared his throat and started in. "You both know that there are some things that we need to talk about, paperwork and such and it's best that we do it before your sister gets home. Because, well, when she gets back we need to, well, talk about…"

"We know, Dad," Don answered softly. He knew what the end of the sentence was, he just didn't want to hear it out loud.

"Don, Charlie, I know you don't want to deal with this right now, but we," she paused. "I need to make sure that you know these things."

Don looked across at Charlie, noticing that he was already starting to get that "somewhere else" expression. "We understand, don't we Charlie," he said quietly, staring at his brother.

Charlie blinked a couple of times. He nodded. "Yeah."

She looked at each of them, giving them a slight smile. "Thank you," she said.

Alan looked at Charlie and then at Don. He took a deep breath. "I guess first, you should know about where we keep all of the important documents, wills, titles to the cars, deed to the house, insurance, pensions, all that…"

The four of them went on to discuss it all; all the minutiae of wills and deeds and titles, of accounts and finances. Of custody of Julie. Don understood the importance of knowing all of these things; he himself had a file with all of his information sitting in his own desk. With what he did for a living, not having it organized and prepared would be irresponsible. But knowing it and listening to his parents go through all, those were two entirely different things. And he was not having an easy time dealing with it.

He looked over at his brother for the umpteenth time. If he had a hard time dealing; Charlie wasn't dealing at all. For the most part, he had the same look on his face that he got when he was lost in some math problem. Every once in a while he would engage, ask some sort of question or respond to something that was said, but generally, he seemed to be lost somewhere in numbersville.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was just over an hour, they heard the front door open and then slam shut. "I'm back," Julie said, dropping her things in the entryway as she went into the dining room. She looked up and saw her parents and brothers sitting around the table, obviously involved in some discussion but now staring in her direction.

"You're back early," her father said.

"Short practice," she responded warily, watching them stare at her. "What are you talking about?" She didn't like the looks on their faces. None of them said anything. "You're having this conversation without me?" she asked, her voice getting loud. "We're supposed to talk about this together. How can you do this?"

"Julie, sweetheart," her mother started. "That's not what we're talking about," she said soothingly.

"What else would you be talking about? I can't believe you're doing this!" She was agitated, upset.

"Julie, we're talking about paperwork, deeds, insurance. That type of thing." Her mother was still trying to calm her with her voice.

She glared at her parents. Her father almost laughed. The look she gave them, eyes narrowed and intense was so unlike her. Her eyes usually got wide and emotional when she was upset or angry. This look, the one she was giving them, was entirely Don and it seemed entirely out of place on her round-cheeked face. He would have laughed except for how upset she was; his laughter would have either have driven her right over the edge or broken the tension. He wasn't willing to take the chance.

Margaret got up from the table and went to her daughter. "Sweetheart," she said softly. "Come in the kitchen with me."

"No." She wasn't defiant, just close to tears.

"Sweet girl," she whispered, taking her hand. "Come with me." She directed her towards the kitchen.

She resisted for a moment then went with her mother, her father and brothers watching them.

She waited until they were in the kitchen to say anything more. "Julie," she said as soon as the door closed. "We weren't keeping anything from you. We're all going to talk about what's happening together. Daddy and I just needed to talk to your brothers about things that we should have told them a long time ago. Things that I'm fairly certain you have no interest in and can't do anything with anyway. You would have not been happy with us if we'd made you sit through this."

"Why?"

"Because it's paperwork and accounts and wills…"

"Wills?" she interrupted. Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. "Why?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. Why had she said wills? There wasn't any way that the word wouldn't upset her. She opened her eyes and gave her daughter a small smile. "Julie, your father and I have had wills for years. It's the responsible thing to do when you have children, to make sure that no matter what happens you've done your best to make sure that they're taken care of. Now, they've changed over the years, when Charlie was born, when you were born, but we've always had them." She paused. "We wouldn't have the other discussion without you, sweet girl. That's a family discussion. We're doing it together." She brushed back a stray strand of hair that had come out of her daughter's ponytail. "Why don't you go get cleaned up and changed so we can talk. Okay?"

"Fine," she said, turning to leave. She put her hand on the door to push it and stopped. "Mommy," she whispered, her head down. "If…Who would…If you were…If you and Daddy…"

She shut her eyes again, hearing the quiet confusion, pain and desperation in her daughter's voice. She never wanted her little girl to think about these things, to think about even having to ask the question that she couldn't quite manage to get out. "Don and Charlie," she said softly. "When Don turned 21, if something had happened…" She opened her eyes. "Don would have taken care of you, of Charlie. And when Charlie became an adult…They both would have. We made sure…You'll always have someone to take care of you. You'll never be alone, sweet girl."

She gave a single, small nod of her head and pushed through the door.


	7. Long Night's Journey Into Day pt 2

**Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long to post. Real life just kept getting in the way. After this, there is 1 or 2 sections left of Saturday (depending on if I decide to break it or just let it run) and one for Sunday, which is already done except for the final edits. **

**I really appreciate all the wonderful comments so far and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

She sat at the table, caressing the dark wood. Don and Charlie had headed upstairs to get dressed just after Julie had and Alan, feeling the need to do something, had cleared the boys' breakfast dishes and started to wash them. This left her sitting by herself at their table. She continued to rub her hand across the wood grain, thinking about how much she loved this table. She thought about all the meals they'd eaten, some alone, some just the two of them when there were no kids around, some in threes or fours an even all five of them. All the holidays. All the homework assignments and projects. All the puzzles she'd done. All the times Alan had spread his plans across it. All the times she'd worked on legal briefs. The table had been the center of so much of their family life; so many conversations, mundane and every day, deep and heartfelt. She wondered if, after the conversation they were about to have, she would still love this table as much as she did.

Alan came back into the dining room. "Do you want more tea?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," she answered.

"Are you sure? It's not a problem," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

She reached up and put her hand on his. He could be such a mother hen sometimes.

"Your hands are like ice," he said. He moved back around her and took her mug. "I'm going to make you more tea."

She didn't say a word, just watched him go back into the kitchen. He wanted to take care of her and she couldn't say no, couldn't tell him to stop. She sighed.

A moment later, she saw Don come back down the stairs. He was dressed now, instead of the sweatpants and t-shirt that he'd probably slept in, he had on jeans and a green polo shirt, untucked, looking more like a college student than a grown man. All that was missing from his student days was his backwards baseball cap. She smiled at him. Even with his slightly sloppy look, she could understand why women found him so attractive and why his sister made the embarrassing comment from the night before about him being a hot FBI guy and people confessing to him. She considered that thought; she rarely ever really thought about his job in that way, that people, criminals, confessed to him, told him awful things; that he saw awful things. She wondered for a moment how he kept it together, how he kept from going completely insane.

Charlie was just a few steps behind his older brother, also wearing jeans but paired with t-shirt with a number of math formulae instead of a polo shirt. For years, she'd heard many people refer to him as a rock star, a math rock star. And for years, she hadn't understood the comment. He was quiet, often unassuming, usually dressed as his was now in a t-shirt and jeans. Not the picture of a rock star. Then one day, a few years ago, not long after he'd returned from his two years in England and had started teaching at CalSci, she'd quietly snuck in to one of his lectures. They were going to meet for lunch and she thought, since she had a little extra time, she'd watch him teach. And after about two minutes, she understood the rock star comment. There was an energy, an aura, around him as paced in front of his students, occasionally turning to his board to illustrate a point. She'd seen him give presentations before, saw him defend his dissertations, present scholarly papers at conferences, but this was an entirely different experience. She also knew in that moment that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do; she'd known since he was young that math would be his life, but she'd never imagined that it would be like this, look like this. Her quiet, unassuming younger son a mathematical rock star.

Both Don and Charlie stared at their mother for a moment, trying to figure out what the smile and slightly strange look meant. Don turned slightly to Charlie, who was still behind him and raised his eyebrows. Charlie shrugged, not understanding the expression any better than his older brother. They both went to the table and sat down in their familiar seats; Charlie shifting around uncomfortably in his, while Don sat still, staring at his hands clasped together on the table. Not long after they'd sat down, Julie came down the steps, also in jeans with a pink polo and hoodie, her dark hair loose over her shoulders. She paused for a moment, looking first at Don, then Charlie and lastly, at her mother, who smiled at her. She went to her chair and sat down, drawing her knees up so that her feet were on the edge of her seat.

"Julie, sweetheart, please don't put your feet on the chair. You know better," her mother said softly.

She shifted, her feet hitting the floor with a soft thump. She crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward, resting her chin on them.

"Charlie," Margaret said. "Can you please tell your father we're all in here waiting for him?"

He nodded and got up, going in to the kitchen. He returned a minute later. "He's just finishing up," he said.

And almost before Charlie had finished the sentence, Alan came through the door, carrying Margaret's mug, steaming from the hot tea. He put it down in front of her and then went to the other end of the table to sit down. She wrapped her hands around the mug, now grateful that he'd made it so she would have something to hold on to, something warm and solid. She felt the heat penetrate her cold hands, which she hadn't even really realized were cold until he'd said something. She looked down in to the cup, took a deep breath and looked up at her husband. She didn't want to start this conversation. She didn't want for it to be needed. She took another deep breath, wondering somehow that if she delayed enough that something would change and they wouldn't need to talk about this

Now, the logical part of her brain that was still working understood the absurdity of the thought. Delaying wouldn't change anything. "Get it together, Margaret," she told herself. "Think about how you present evidence to a judge." She took a third deep breath, forcing her shoulders and hands to relax. "I know none of us want to be here having this conversation," she started softly, shifting her gaze from her husband to each of her children. Her daughter sat up. "But we thought that this would be the best way, to make sure that everyone knows everything."

She saw Don nod slightly and go back to staring at his clasped hands.

"It's hard," she said. "It's hard to talk about…to talk about cancer. But we're going to. And you can say anything, ask anything. Dad and I will answer the best we can. And if we don't know, we'll tell you and we'll figure out how to find out what you need. Agreed?"

Charlie looked at his mother and nodded. "Yeah," Don said, nodding as well. Julie bit her lower lip. "Uh huh," she added, not quite trusting her voice to say anything more.

She continued. "All three of you know that Dad and I met with my doctor earlier this week and she reviewed all the test results with us and confirmed a diagnosis of uterine cancer." She noticed that both of her sons flushed slightly. She recognized the fact that there probably weren't too many sons in the world who wouldn't have some sense of embarrassment or discomfort over a discussion that involved their mothers' gynecologists or anything even remotely related.

"I had another appointment this week with a specialist who talked with us about what this diagnosis means and to start looking at options for treatment plans. And the first real step seems to be surgery, a hysterectomy, and we've scheduled that for Wednesday." She paused for a moment. "Not this Wednesday, but a week from Wednesday. After that, the doctors, the team, should have a better idea of what the next steps should be, umm, based on the results from surgery and the tests."

"You're having surgery?" Julie asked softly, a slight tremor in her voice.

She nodded, reaching for her daughter's hand. "Yes."

"What might be the next steps?" Don asked.

She looked back at her husband, holding her daughter's hand and then looked over at her eldest. "It does depend on what they find. In a best case scenario, surgery takes care of everything and other than recovery and follow-up, life goes on as usual."

"How likely is that?" he asked quietly.

She exhaled. She wished he hadn't asked. "Not very likely," she responded. "The specialist thinks there is at least some spread." She felt Julie's fingers tighten around her own. "And that would probably mean either radiation or chemotherapy depending on what they find."

He looked down at the table. "Okay," he whispered. He focused on keeping himself calm. He couldn't help his mom, be there for her if he lost it.

Charlie watched his brother and sister, trying to focus on what was going on, but the numbers kept invading his thoughts. Then he realized something. He could use his numbers. Maybe if he did some research, say on treatment types related to type of cancer and age and other health issues and a host of other factors, he might help them come up with some better answers, some better treatment choices. Yes, he could do that. Some research, some new expressions. Yes, that could work. A few ideas were already coming to him. This is what he could do.

Don looked at his father. He expected to see, well, he wasn't sure what he expected, but he was surprised at what he did see. His father's eyes were filled with such love and warmth as he watched his wife. There was no stress, no anxiety, just the love that had grown and matured in their over thirty years of marriage. It somehow surprised him. He knew his parents loved each other but to see it so intensely at this moment, at the exclusion of everything else…He was just so in love with her. He kept watching his father but he also felt like he was intruding on them again, just as he had when he'd heard his mother crying the night before.

"…no matter what they find, there will still be recovery time from the surgery, so I'm going to need your help to make sure the house is kept up and running," she said.

He looked away from his father and back to his mother. "Don't worry, Mom," he said. "We'll take care of everything."

"Don," she whispered.

He took a breath. "I'm coming home," he said softly.

"You're coming back? To Pasadena?" Charlie asked, not quite sure that he'd heard him correctly; his mind had wandered for a moment and he thought he might have missed something.

"Yes."

"You mean to stay? You won't be going back and forth?" his sister asked. She remembered from the night before when he said he'd play tennis with her when he came back. She didn't realize that he meant that he'd be coming back permanently.

He looked over at his sister and nodded. "That's the idea," he said quietly. "I just need to work it out with my bosses."

He looked back to his mother.

"Baby," she whispered, looking deep into his eyes. She remembered when he was born. She'd had a long, very difficult labor and ultimately had to deliver him by c-section. She'd spent hours away from him; Alan holding him, comforting him while she was in recovery. Finally, the nurse rested the bundle of blankets and baby in her arms. For what seemed the longest time, she couldn't look into his little face. She was petrified that she'd never connect with him, wouldn't love him, having spent all the time away from him in the hours after his birth. She finally looked into his dark eyes. And then she wondered if she could love anyone or anything as much as she loved him in that moment. He was a part of her heart.

"Don't worry," his voice barely a whisper. "I'll be here."

"Baby," she whispered again.

He wanted to look away. The emotion coming from her, just in the repetition of that long-ago term of endearment, was crashing into him; wave after wave almost swamping him, driving him under. But he couldn't look away. He remembered what his friend Nathan said once when they were surfing; don't panic, every wave lets you up at some point. He held her eyes. "I'm here. I'll be here." He felt his sister take his hand.

They held each other's gaze for another long moment. Then the wave let him up. He took a deep breath; he was able to breathe again.

"You said a week from Wednesday?" he asked softly.

She closed her eyes and took her own deep breath. "Yes."

"I'll make sure I'm here."

Charlie looked at his brother and then his mother. "I'll make sure my classes are covered for the week."

She looked at her middle child and smiled. "Thank you, Sweets."

"I'll be with you, too, Mom," Julie said quietly.

Margaret shook her head. "No. You need to be in school."

She looked confused. "Why? I want to be there."

"Julie, it's your junior year. It's an important year for you." She sighed. "I don't want you to give up anything, miss anything."

"I want to be there."

"Julie." She looked up at the ceiling. She wanted her young daughter to have something that was going to stay normal in her life.

"You go to school. I'll pick you up," Don said quietly. "When Mom…I'll pick you up."

"Really? You'll do that?," she asked hopefully.

He nodded.

She squeezed his hand. "Thank you."

He smiled at her. "You're welcome."

There was silence for a moment. "Mom," Julie whispered, staring at the table. "Are you going to be okay?"

She looked at her husband, a wistful smile crossing her lips. He returned the smile. He would follow her lead, just as they'd agreed.

"I still have so much I need to do, want to do," she started. She looked at her daughter, head down, hair spilling over her shoulders, covering her face. "I want to see you graduate. I want to see Don get married and Charlie win his Fields Medal. And you promised me ten grandchildren. They're going to need their grandma."

Don leaned over and whispered to his sister. "Ten?"

She gave a little nod, not looking up.

"And there are things that your father and I want to do," she continued.

"Mom," Charlie and Don both whispered.

"Oh, stop it, both of you." She looked at them both. "We want to travel, there are so many places we want to see and experience, once we're finally done paying tuition."

"Viennese waltzes played in Vienna. The music and art and architecture in Russia. The ancient temples and shrines in Japan," Alan said softly. They had so many places they talked about visiting.

"You see, I just have too much to do for this…I just have too much to look forward to. I'm not going to miss it all. It may take some time, but I'm going to get through this. We'll get through this and our lives will go on." She reached over and pushed some of her daughter's hair back, trying to see her face, to see if she were crying. She remembered what she'd said to her daughter days earlier. "I'm not going to leave you, sweet girl," she whispered.

She didn't lift her head.

Alan looked at his daughter and his wife. "Did you actually say ten grandchildren? Did I hear that right?"

"Yes, you heard that correctly," Margaret answered. "Julie told me that she wants to have ten children."

"You're not planning on doing that anytime soon, right?" her father asked her.

"No," she responded quietly, still not looking up.

"Well, I guess that gives Dad some time to start working on the renovation plans for the house," Don said, giving his sister a slight nudge.

That got her to look up. "Huh?"

"If there are going to be an extra eleven people in this house, it's going to need some work. Those plans take time," Don said.

"What are you talking about?" she asked flatly. "I said ten, not eleven. And why would the house need work?" Now she was just confused.

"Well, I assume that you'll have a husband who is the father of all those kids, right?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"Well, he would be number eleven. And I remember when you were little, when Charlie and I were going to college, you said that you were going to live here forever. So, if you, your husband and your ten kids are going to live here with Mom and Dad, then the house is going to need to get bigger. Dad will need to start working on it. It should be ready about the time you're ready to have all those kids." He looked at his mother. "Remember?"

"Yes, I do. You told us that you would stay with us forever. And Daddy and I said that we were happy to have you."

"I guess I do need to start working on some plans, then." Alan answered. "We may lose most of the backyard."

"Just make sure to leave the koi pond alone. I have a long history with them," Charlie said.

Margaret smiled. She was glad to have the distraction.

They grew quiet again, all of them tired and emotionally wrung out. The silence was broken a few moments later when Charlie's cell rang. He didn't make a move to answer it. Then the house phone started to ring as well. No one made a move to answer it either.

"Charlie, please answer your phone," Margaret said. "And Julie, please answer our phone. It's probably one of your friends."

"It's okay, Mom," Charlie said. "I don't need to get it."

"Charlie, answer it. Please."

He flipped his phone open, got up from the table and started talking, leaving the room in the process. The other phone stopped ringing and then a moment later, started again.

"Julie, please go get that phone. It won't stop until you do."

She pushed her chair away from the table and started to get up. "What do I say?" she asked her mother quietly.

"About what?"

She looked around. "About this. About all this."

Margaret sighed. "You can tell your friends whatever you're comfortable with, sweetheart. If you want to let them know so you have someone to talk to, that's okay. If you don't want to, that's okay, too. It's whatever you are comfortable with."

"Mommy," she whispered.

"Julie, please. That phone ringing is about to make me crazy."

She looked at her mother and then her father. He looked over to the phone, also telling her silently to answer it. She went over and picked it up, talking softly into the receiver.

And then it was just the three of them. Don went back to clasping his hands on the table, staring at them. The looks went back and forth between Margaret and Alan, knowing that there was something left to be said to their eldest.

"Donnie," Alan said. "What about Kim?"

He didn't look up. "I don't know. I'll figure it out."

"Donnie…"

He sat back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. "Dad, I'll figure it out." He got up from the table and headed for the back door. He needed some air.

They heard the back door open and then slam shut.

Margaret leaned back in her chair and wrapped her hands around her mug again. The tea was barely lukewarm and the mug itself wasn't even that. She let go of the mug and rubbed her hands together, attempting to warm them. And it wasn't just her hands that were cold. She pulled her light sweater tighter around her.

"Margaret, darling, why don't you go upstairs?" he said gently.

"I'm okay," she whispered, knowing that she wasn't and knowing that she probably couldn't convince him of that fact either.

He got up and went to her end of the table and stood behind her chair. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head back into him, shutting her eyes. He ran his fingers through her hair, tucking one of the stray ringlets behind her ear. He felt her sigh and then reach her hand up and rest it against his forearm. Her fingers felt like ice against his skin. "Darling," he said quietly.

For the first time since they'd sat down with the boys that morning, she felt the tears building in her eyes. She squeezed them tighter, willing them to go away. "I know," her voice barely audible. She shivered.

He squeezed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Go," he said.

"Okay." She again pulled her sweater closer. He eased his arm from around her shoulders, she got up and faced him. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"I'll bring you some soup later," he told her.

"You take such care of me," she whispered.

"Always. Now go."

She went to the stairs and started up. Part way up, she stopped. "I love you," she said just loud enough for him to hear.

"I love you, too," he said.

She continued up the steps to their room.

He watched her go. And then he was left alone, quiet echoing through the room. He sighed and pushed through the kitchen door. He'd get started on that soup.


	8. Intermezzo

He stood in the kitchen, watching his eldest son through the window. Don had headed out to the backyard and now stood, barefoot, in the grass by the koi pond. He seemed to just be staring into the pond, watching the fish. He smiled slightly. There were fish in the pond because of Don. He'd wanted a pet, preferably a dog, from almost the time he could talk and his requests, demands really, became constant when they'd moved in to the house. They couldn't have pets because Margaret was allergic and, frankly, Don, while not allergic, was sensitive to animals; more than a couple of hours in a house with a dog had him sneezing and sniffling for hours after. So, they'd tried a compromise, fish. They put a tank in the house and koi in the pond. Little Donnie had become fascinated by those fish, as did his siblings years later. In fact, Margaret had said repeatedly that you could understand each of the children perfectly just by watching them for two minutes by the pond. Don was always fascinated by the motion, watching the fish dart all around the pond. Charlie had been mesmerized by the patterns the fish followed, spending hours analyzing and later creating equations to understand and predict their movements. Julie loved the colors, the play of light and shadow, the shimmering of the sunlight on the water; the first word he ever understood from her by the pond had been "pretty".

Of course, for the longest time, they'd needed to watch Don constantly when he was near the fish. He not only wanted to watch them move, he wanted to **make** them move. He would throw little stones and sticks into the water, amused when the fish would scatter with the intrusion. It had been very difficult to convince him not to throw things in the pond, to make him understand that he might hurt the fish he enjoyed so much. But finally he'd learned.

He saw him squat by the pond and then stick his finger in the water, swirling it around. He could almost see the smile on his son's face. He gave a short chuckle, shaking his head. Another one of those things that never changed. And he supposed that there was some comfort in that fact; that his son, who in so many ways had grown up too fast, still had that childish part of him.

He turned away from the window and back to his cooking. He'd long ago perfected his chicken soup recipe, actually his grandmother's, and he was determined to have it ready for lunch. Days earlier, he'd made a huge pot of stock and kept it at the ready in the refrigerator. Now, he chopped carrots and celery and thought about the fact that he wished he'd gotten the ingredients to make matzo balls to add to the soup, to make it even more of a meal, and something that he knew that she would eat. And that was what was important at this point.

She'd climbed up the stairs, still hearing his "I love you, too," echoing in her ears. She went to her closet, opened the door and stared in to the space. She wanted something warm, something that would help take away the chill she felt deep into her bones. But it wasn't like she had that many warm things. She'd lived in Southern California almost since she'd graduated from college; not a place that required heavy clothes. She continued to stare. Then it occurred to her that she did have one heavy sweater, one that she'd gotten years ago when they'd first taken the boys skiing. She rummaged around and found the cardigan-jacket, pulling the blue-grey sweater from the hanger. She put it on and wrapped it tightly around herself, belting it closed.

She rubbed her hands against the soft knit as she went over to her chair and sat down. She dragged the blanket that was draped over the arm of the chair on to herself, tucking it in around her legs and pulling it up so that she could cover her hands and arms. She shivered again. She closed her eyes for a moment and waited for the chill to pass, willing the warmth of her sweater and blanket into her body. She edged her footstool closer, resting her feet on the little bench, drawing up her knees, nestling deeper into her chair.

As she let the warmth penetrate, she contemplated the objects providing the warmth. She remembered buying the sweater, god, more than twenty years before when she and Alan had decided to take the boys skiing. Don had seen it on television the winter before during the Olympics and he'd become fascinated with the idea of flying down mountains. They'd finally decided to take the boys, eleven and six, and they'd both been so excited on the drive up to the ski lodge. Don had fallen in love almost from the moment he'd put on skis at ski school. He'd progressed quickly, the instructors impressed with his natural balance and athleticism. Alan had had to practically drag him off the mountain at lunchtime, his cheeks and nose red from the sun and wind. He couldn't wait to go back out. Charlie, on the other hand, had ended up liking the idea of skiing more than the actual activity. After about three minutes, he'd looked at her and said quite plainly that snow was cold and he didn't think that he liked cold very much. After a few more attempts on the mountain, the two of them had headed back inside to sit by the fire, she with her sweater, a good book and hot drink, Charlie with his notebook and pencils. (He decided that studying the forces that acted on you while skiing felt much better than actually having those forces act upon you…) She'd been glad that she'd tried skiing and had the experience, but really did prefer the fire, her book and a hot toddy.

She smiled at the memory, wishing that she had that big fireplace and roaring fire right now. Maybe she'd see if the boys could build a fire in the living room fireplace. That would be nice. She sighed. Thinking about taking the boys skiing made her realize that they'd never taken Julie. Of course, she'd also never asked to try skiing, but still…And it also made her think about how many things she wanted to do with her daughter. Her young daughter. Her teenager. Julie was only sixteen, still in many ways a child. Sixteen. She should be thinking, worrying, about whether the boy she liked would ask her to the prom. About her driving test. About her homework. She shouldn't have to worry about her mother being sick, about how to ask if her mother was going to be okay. She didn't want that for her daughter, for any of her children.

She remembered being sixteen. She remembered her family home, the small Washington Heights townhouse, where she'd lived her entire childhood. Sixteen. She'd fought with her sister, Maureen, nineteen months younger, over boys and chores and who took an extra two inches in their shared closet. She'd spent hours, late at night, in the dark whispering with her sister, also over boys and clothes. She'd worried about homework and whether her parents would let her stay out late at a party on Friday or Saturday night. She remembered the small plate of freshly-baked cookies that were almost always on the table when they came home from school; her mama's way of letting them know how much she loved them.

She shut her eyes and let the memories of her mother wash over her. Anna Rosenthal Mann, German-born, American-raised, intelligent and sophisticated, wanted her daughters to grow up to be truly modern women. She made sure that they spent the necessary time to do their homework well, to read widely, to study their music. She made sure that there was structure in their lives. She remembered her friends sometimes had a hard time understanding her structure, her rules, thinking it was all about control. But her mother loved them both so much. Even now, she could feel the soft touch of her mother's hand on her cheek welcoming her each day when she came home, the gentle caress of her dark hair as they admired the soft flickering light of the Shabbat candles.

She nestled deeper into her chair, snuggling under her blanket. Even with her eyes closed, she could see the candlelight, the beautifully set table. Her parents had become distant from the religious aspects of their Judaism before the war, and after, they'd abandoned it completely. But they'd never totally left the cultural aspects of their faith, of their history. And one of the few things they'd kept was the Shabbat dinner. She could see dinner set out on the table, the roasted chicken, the challah made that day by her mother's own hands, the vegetables and potatoes, the consume that started every meal. She could smell the wonderful food, taste the warm broth. She felt her mother's fingers brush back her hair, her soft voice whisper, "A good Shabbat, my Margaret."

"Mama," she whispered. It all seemed so real. She still felt her fingers in her hair.

"Margaret," she heard again. She opened her eyes. She was back in her room, Alan brushing back her hair. A bowl of chicken soup sat on the side table by her chair.

"I must have fallen asleep," she said quietly.

"I'd say so," he responded just as quietly. When he'd come into the room, she'd been curled up in the chair, looking so young, so vulnerable. He'd been reminded of when they were first married and she was still in law school. She'd sometimes fall asleep while she was doing her reading and he'd find her, books around her on the couch, one open on her lap. He'd hated waking her up then, knowing that she must be tired if she'd fallen asleep with her books. He hated it even more now. He probably wouldn't have even done it except for the fact that he'd heard her whisper in her sleep, that and he wanted her to eat her soup while it was still hot.

He watched her trying to focus, to become present again. She must have been far away to have mentioned her mother, even in sleep.

"Sometimes I still miss her," she whispered. She burrowed under her blanket even more, wanting to contain the warmth she had from her memories.

"Of course, you do. She's your mother." He reached over and took her hand, massaging her palm with his thumb.

"She never knew Charlie. Or Julie," she said wistfully.

"I know." He understood what she was saying and not saying. So many thoughts this weekend about mortality.

"I know she would have loved them so much, but she never got the chance. She never knew that she finally had a granddaughter."

"I know," he repeated.

She sighed. "Remember when I took Don to see her, when she was sick the first time? When he was three?"

He nodded.

"The trip back east was awful. If there was a place where we could get delayed, we did. Every airport, every plane. It took forever. I couldn't get him to eat an actual meal, he never had the chance to take his nap, there was no place to let him run around a little bit to burn off some energy. To this day, I'm not sure who was closer to having a full-blown tantrum, him or me."

He smiled. Donnie could be quite a handful.

"We finally got to the house; it was late and we were both exhausted, but I wanted to make sure that my mother saw us, saw him, before she went to sleep. I planned just a quick hello so I could get him fed, in a bath and to sleep, but it didn't work out that way. She had me put him on her bed and he just crawled over and curled up with her."

"Really? That wasn't like him," he responded. When he was little, Don had been more than willing to snuggle and get comfortable with people he knew and liked, but with someone unfamiliar? No way.

"Really. He called her nana and tucked himself in right next to her. She started whispering to him in German…"

"German?" he interrupted. He'd never heard this story like this before.

"Yes. German. I didn't know she still spoke it. But she kept whispering little terms of endearment and such to him. In German. And he was just as good as he could be. I finally told her that I needed to get him fed; I just didn't want to push my luck any further. And she actually got a little upset with me, not having fed him beforehand. I picked him up, carried him out of the room and before I even had the chance to put him down, he started whining and fussing. And as soon as his feet hit the floor he started running around, climbing on things. While I fixed him something to eat, he hung on me and then ran away, back and forth he went. I finally got him to eat something, put him in his bath; another tantrum, by the way and got him in to his pajamas and put him to bed in Maureen's bed. I turned out the light but I hadn't even gotten out the door when I heard him call for me. I turned the light back on and he was sitting up, clutching that teddy bear he always slept with."

He nodded, remembering the bear. By the time Donnie was done with it, there was almost nothing left of the poor stuffed animal.

"I picked him up and he just held on to me, trembling, burrowing his little face into my shoulder. I turned the light back off and just held him, looking out the window at all the lights. I remember telling him that the city lights were like the ones back home."

He smiled. "Did you actually think that you'd get him to believe that the lights in Washington Heights were the same as the ones in Echo Park?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I wasn't trying to get him to think that they were the same. I just wanted him to see them as something familiar. He loved looking at the city lights from his window at home. And well, lights are lights."

He pushed another strand of her hair back. "Did it work?" he asked.

She shrugged. "A little. He settled down enough so that we could go to sleep. Although I remember that when I put him down on my bed so that I could get under the covers he got fussy again. As soon as I got settled in, he snuggled right up to me, held on to me, and stayed that way all night." She remembered the feeling; his warm little body pressed against her, his hands wrapped in her nightgown. He was so small, so precious. There were times when it was hard to reconcile that little boy with the strong, brave man he'd become. She sighed. "I wonder if he remembers," she asked softly.

"I don't know. He was so young. But maybe," he responded.

"He's the only one that even had the chance to meet her." She looked up at him. "She loved him so much, loved even the idea of him. You know, when I called her to tell her that I was pregnant, I told her I had good news, that I was expecting, that we were going to have a baby. You know what she said?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "She said, 'My dear Margaret, that isn't good news. That is wonderful news. The best news.'"

He sat down on the arm of her chair and wrapped his arm around her. "You did tell her that I was his father, right?"

She rested her head against him. "So, now you think you're funny?"

"Well, your mother didn't like me very much…"

"My mother didn't dislike you. Neither did my father. Now, my Aunt Irene, she didn't like you. Actually, she still doesn't like you."

He snorted. "Tell me something I don't know." All these years later, her Aunt Irene still made comments about him, about who else Margaret could have married instead of him. She only remotely even tolerated him because she liked their children, loved that with Julie there was finally a little girl in either family.

"I like you," she whispered.

He gave her a little squeeze. "I like you, too," he whispered.

She snuggled closer. "And really, my parents didn't dislike you. They were just worried that you were going to keep me locked up in the house, constantly pregnant in the wilds of California. They didn't send me to Barnard for that."

"You know, I did tell them that. That I would never keep you from pursuing your legal career."

"I know that this may be shocking to you, but parents don't always believe what the men their daughters' bring home tell them. They tend to think that there are ulterior motives…" She raised her eyebrows at him. "At least they treated you better than the boy I had a crush on when I was twelve. He walked me home from school one day and my mother asked him so many questions, he started to cry and ran out the door. Or the boy in high school I dated a few times who then broke up with me to date the Liz Taylor look-a-like from down the street. My parents called his parents about how he upset me. So, it could have been worse."

"Well," he replied. "I was the one who married you. Made an honest woman of you," he winked.

"My parents didn't know that I wasn't an honest woman before that." She gave a small laugh. "You should have heard my mother the night before our wedding, trying to tell me about how my 'marital duties' might be difficult at first, but if I gave it time, I could learn to enjoy them and might even find pleasure in them."

He blushed slightly. "Your mother really said that? You never told me that."

"The whole thing was awkward and almost embarrassing. My mother trying to explain the joys of sex with your husband, thinking that I was as pure as the driven snow and had never even had a lascivious thought and me not having the heart to tell her that, well, we had already started to…that I already knew how to make you happy." She felt the color rising in her cheeks, matching his.

He shrugged. "Well, it was the 60's."

"Like that made any difference to my mother. I think if I would have told her that we were already having…sex…I think I might have given her a heart attack. She believed that it was…completely…appropriate for me to be wearing white at our wedding and I wasn't going to tell her anything any different. No parent wants to know those things about their children."

"You don't honestly think the boys…You realize that they're 32 and 27."

"I'm telling you I don't think about it. I don't want to think about it and I don't want to know. It isn't any of my business. They are adults. I don't have any need or reason to know. Oh, and by the way, sons are different than daughters. And I dare you to deny that fact."

He frowned slightly. "You know that there is no good answer to that. If I say that there is a difference, then I'm being sexist. If I say there's no difference, then you'll think I'm lying."

"What I know is that the first time Julie comes home with a serious boyfriend, you will grill that young man within an inch of his life."

"I will not," he protested. "I'll have Don do it. He's trained in interrogation techniques and, well, there should be some benefit to that gun he carries…"

She shook her head. "Oh, you wouldn't dare."

"I might. He'll be around now."

She went silent.

He'll be around now.

He brushed back another strand of her hair as he moved from the arm of her chair. "Your soup's getting cold," he said softly. "I'll go warm it up."

She sighed. "You can be such a Jewish mother."

"Someone…" He paused. "Someone needed to work on my Grandmother Rachel's chicken soup."

"You've done it well," she whispered, pulling her blanket tighter. The chill, which had been gone for awhile, returned with a vengeance. "Do you think the boys can build a fire in the fireplace?" she asked.

"I'll see if we have any wood." He went to pick up the bowl, but stopped. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. "You know I really do like you," he whispered. He picked up the bowl and left the room.

She leaned back in her chair and looked at the pictures on the wall opposite her. A small collage of photos, mostly black and white, from their wedding day. Her eyes fell on to the picture of her mother helping her get ready, fastening her veil to her hair. She smiled, remembering the day, that moment. She was so in love with him then and still was now.

"Mama," she whispered, closing her eyes again. "I picked a good one."


	9. Long Day's Journey Into Night pt 1

She came down the steps, noticing the way the late afternoon sunlight was angling through the windows, creating a warm glow throughout the living room. Her daughter sat at the dining room table, working on her homework, probably either chemistry or math so that Alan or Charlie could help her if ran into difficulty. She came up behind her daughter and put her hand on her shoulder, hoping not to startle her too much. "How is it going?" she asked.

Julie looked up from her work. "Okay. I'm almost done with my chem."

She gently rubbed the shoulder on which her hand rested. "Good girl." She looked around. "Where are your father and brothers?"

"Dad's in the kitchen, Charlie's in the solarium working on something no one else understands and Don was in here, but I think he went back outside." She thought for a moment. "Oh, and I think Dad said to tell you if you came down that everything was set for a fire to be lit. He had Don bring in the wood and they got it all ready."

"Oh, good. It'll feel good to have a nice fire going," she responded.

"I love the smell," Julie said, closing her eyes and inhaling like she could already smell the burning wood.

She smiled. "I don't suppose you could write a chemical equation that describes the fire burning?"

Julie rolled her eyes. "No. What I can tell you is that it generates heat and light. That's it."

"Well, that's a good start," she replied, looking over the work spread out on the table. "Did you say you were almost done? It looks like you have a lot of stuff still spread out here."

"I am almost done. Some of this is my notes and some is Catherine's notes. But her stuff doesn't make much sense. I don't think she wrote the formulas down right or she made up some of her own symbols or something." She shook her head.

"Well, you could have Charlie look over everything and see if it's right," she suggested.

"I don't need him to do that. I can do it myself." She crossed her arms. "And anyway, when he looks over my stuff it gets worse and I don't understand what he does to it and my teacher marks it wrong because it's not the way she taught us." She shook her head. "And then when I complain about it, he just tells me that my teacher doesn't know what she's talking about. It's just easier to do it the way she taught it in class and move on."

"But if it's incorrect…" she started.

"It's correct for high school chemistry. Who cares if it's the way that scientific journals or whatever want it? They don't give me a grade."

She pushed one of the little tendrils of hair that had escaped the pile on top of her head back behind her daughter's ear. "Well, I suppose you do need to understand the audience for your work. Oh, and by the way, I'm glad that you're getting this done now. I appreciate not having to nag you about it."

"Don made me do it," she replied honestly. He didn't want their mom to have to nag her either.

She smiled again. Julie would do almost anything her big brother told her to. Of course, if Charlie had told her to do it…Well, that would have been its own fight. She rarely wanted to do what he suggested that she do. She was considering that fact when the kitchen door swung open and Don and Alan came in.

"…because it's impossible to hit that pitch, when it's in on your hands like that. The best that you can hope to do usually is maybe foul it off. More likely, you're going to miss or saw off your bat. That's what makes him so effective," Don said.

She shook her head. The two of them discussing baseball. No matter what, she supposed, they would always have that.

Alan looked over at her. "You're up," he said softly.

"I think I've slept enough for one afternoon," she answered.

"Are you sure?" He couldn't get the image of her looking so young and vulnerable curled up in her chair asleep out of his head.

"I'm okay," she said quietly, looking in to his eyes and smiling. She wanted to reassure him, keep him from worrying quite so much.

He returned the smile and the look. He knew that she was trying to reassure him but all he wanted to do was protect her, keep her safe, keep all the stress and struggle of what was happening, going to happen, away from her. At least as much as he could…

Don watched them both, the memory of all that had happened in the past day fresh in his mind. He needed to do something… "Charlie," he called out, knowing that his brother was somewhere around, probably in the solarium.

He waited a moment and not getting any response, he tried again. "Charlie!"

Another moment. "Hey, Chuck," he tried. "Get in here!"

He saw that his parents were about to say something, but before they could, an answer came from another part of the house. "What? What do you want?"

"Get in here!" he yelled.

They heard sounds coming from the solarium that seemed to indicate movement.

Charlie popped into the dining room. "Stop calling me Chuck, Donald," he said. "What do you want?"

"First, Chuck gets your attention. Second, get ready to go. We're going out, the three of us," he said, looking over at Julie.

"What? Why? Where are we going?" Charlie asked, wondering what he'd missed while he was in the solarium.

"I don't know. Dinner and movie I guess," he answered.

"Don," his father started. "You don't have to do that."

"Nah. It's fine. We'll go out and you two can have the house to yourselves. Or go out. Whatever you want. We're taken care of."

Julie sat up straighter in her chair. She didn't often get the chance to go out just with her brothers. The few times she could remember them going out together, they went places where she wasn't allowed. She kept quiet, though, not wanting to give her parents a reason to say no.

"Don, your sister has homework to finish and we've got groceries in the refrigerator for dinner," his mother said.

He looked at his sister and the work spread out on the table. "Can you be done and ready to go in half an hour?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then we're going. We'll leave in thirty." He looked at his sister. "Finish up. Charlie and I will go get ready."

"Don," his father tried again.

"We're going," he said. He motioned to Charlie. "Let's go."

"If we're leaving in half an hour, I can still get a few things done on the problem I'm working on," Charlie said.

He shook his head. "No way, Chuck. If you go back there and get started again, you'll never stop. Let's go."

"Fine," Charlie replied, rolling his eyes at the use of the hated nickname again.

Don pointed at his sister, who was still watching them. "You, thirty minutes."

He headed for the stairs, Charlie right behind him, wondering what this was really about.

They reached the top of the steps. "Don," Charlie whispered, wanting to make sure no one else heard him. "Why are we going out, the three of us?"

Don turned to face his brother. "To give Mom and Dad some time alone, without us around. They deserve it and they've probably got things they need to talk about."

Charlie looked at him quizzically. Don couldn't believe the cluelessness in the look. Had his brother ever had a serious relationship? Or even a not serious one?

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He didn't even know how to explain this to his brother if he were really that clueless…"Just get ready, okay?'

"You know, I've got work to do. That would be a much better use of my time than…"

"Charlie," Don interrupted, exasperated. "It's not about you. Get ready so we can go as soon as Julie's done with her homework." He turned away from his brother and headed towards his room. "You can have the bathroom first," he said over his shoulder.

Charlie watched his brother head down the hallway. Even after he'd entered his room and shut his door, he stared down the now empty hall, wondering. He shook his head and turned to the bathroom. It wasn't often that Don gave up first shot at the bathroom and he might as well take advantage.

Twenty-nine minutes later, Don and Charlie were standing the foyer as Julie came flying down the stairs. "I'm not late," she said breathlessly.

Don checked his watch. "No, you aren't." He looked over at his mother. "Can I have the keys to your car?" he asked, feeling like he was sixteen again.

She smiled He hadn't had to ask for her keys since not long after he'd learned how to drive. She went to table in the foyer, grabbed her purse and pulled out her car keys. "Do I have to remind you how to treat my car?" she asked, using the same line she used to use with him.

"No, Mom," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm supposed to leave it in at least as good condition as when I took it," repeating the response he'd given so many times before.

She dropped the keys into his palm. "Can you do the same with your brother and sister?"

He looked at brother and then his sister. "I guess I can."

She touched his cheek. "I would appreciate it," she said. "Oh, and please, pick a movie without too much gratuitous sex and violence, I'd rather you didn't corrupt…"

"Charlie?" he interrupted, smirking.

"Very funny," Charlie said.

"I try," he said. "We'll see something with just enough sex and violence. Nothing over the top."

She shook her head.

"Wiseass," his father said quietly.

Don got serious for a moment. "Really, we won't see anything too rough. I'll make sure it is something appropriate."

"Thank you," she said.

The three younger Eppes headed for the front door, their parents behind them. They went down the front steps and headed for Margaret's car. Margaret and Alan stood on the front porch watching their children. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close to help her stay warm. She rested her head against him. She watched as Don went to the driver's side door, opened it and unlocked the other doors. Julie had headed for the other front door but was intercepted by Charlie, who wasn't going to let her pull rank and take the other front seat.

"You know," she started. "This seems awfully familiar." How many times had they stood here and watched one of the kids head off somewhere?

"It is familiar," he replied, rubbing her arm.

She nestled in closer. "And how many times did you stand here and wait for one of them to come back?" she asked. It had always been his responsibility to wait up for them.

He smiled. "Let's face it. The only one I ever really needed to wait for was Don. Charlie didn't go that many places on his own when he was younger and for the most part, we or one of the other parents still drive Julie." He thought about the number of times he stood here waiting for his eldest. Don had gone through a period where his understanding of his curfew had been, well, flexible. And that had meant more than a few nights of hanging out on the porch waiting for Don to make his appearance. It hadn't seemed to matter what consequence they came up with for him, he just kept doing it. That is until he just decided one day that it wasn't worth the hassle any longer.

"You remember that phase he went through about his curfew?" she asked.

He laughed. "I was just thinking about that." He shook his head. "He's always had a mind of his own." He sighed. "How often do you think I'll be standing out here waiting for him again?"

"I think you'd have an awfully hard time enforcing a curfew with him now," she said, watching her car pull out of the driveway.

"That's not what I mean." He thought for a moment, wondering how to phrase the thoughts running through his head. "With his job," he paused. "He'll probably be here, at the house, at least for a little while. With his work…It's not like he has a normal nine-to-five job…There are going to be times…Times when we wonder where he is, when he'll be back."

She continued to watch the last place she saw her car before it turned out of sight. "We've wondered before," she said softly. "When we didn't hear from him for long stretches of time, when we didn't know where he was. We learned to deal with it." His days in Fugitive Recovery ran through her head.

He felt her tense slightly. He rubbed her arm again, trying to get her to relax against him again. "But this is different. He'll be here, not somewhere far away. It'll be…" He searched for a word.

"In front of us," she said, filling in the words for him. "We'll learn," she said quietly. "We'll have to."

He looked up and out into the sky. "It's not the only thing we'll have to learn." He sighed. "There are other things." He shook his head. "You know he's carrying his gun with him, right?"

"I know he had it when he got here," she said.

"No, I mean tonight. He's going out to dinner and a movie with his brother and sister and he's carrying a gun."

She looked up at him, squinting slightly. "I didn't notice. Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yes."

She bit her lip. "It's part of what he does. He's a federal agent and I imagine that there are regulations or protocols about him carrying it. We do need to get used to that," she said quietly.

"You think that I can get used to there being a gun in my house?"

"Our house," she said softly. "And you'll need to."

"How is it that you've never had a problem with this?" he asked. "From the first day he told us you've been…"

"You're not remembering correctly," she interrupted. "I told you both that I wasn't taking sides, that I wasn't going to be the referee." She took a breath. "I didn't want this for him. This wouldn't have been the choice I made for him, but he was almost 24. I figured that I didn't get to make that decision for him anymore. You've always said that at some point, you need to let your children be who they're going to become." She relaxed back in to him. "Maybe this is always who he was supposed to become."

He held her close, brushing her cheek with his lips. "What did you want for him?" he whispered.

She sighed. "I wanted him to become a lawyer, to open a practice with me."

He laughed. "So, Don would start a practice with you, Charlie was going to open a planning firm with me. What's Julie supposed to do?"

She gave her own small laugh. "A musician. Although I'm not sure where she'll find the time with ten children."

He thought for a moment. "Maybe she could be the business manager for both of us. That could leave her enough time to be with all those kids." He paused. "Was she really serious?"

She nodded. "She said the boys were hopeless."

He laughed again. "Hopeless, huh?"

"Yes." She snuggled closer. She was cold but the almost cool, fresh air smelled so good and felt so nice as it caressed her cheeks.

"You're cold," he said softly. "We should go inside."

She shook her head. "It's okay."

"Well, then why don't we go inside where the neighbors can't watch us standing on the porch and where we can enjoy the evening alone that we've been given."

"We don't get a lot of those, do we?" she asked.

"Not many. And the fireplace is all set up for the fire you wanted. So, come on. Let's go use it." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You think you're going to get lucky, Eppes?"

He kissed her then leaned his forehead against hers. "I already have," he whispered. "I already have."


	10. Long Day's Journey Into Night pt 2

He clicked open the doors of his mother's car. His sister moved to the passenger side door, calling "shotgun" as she opened the door.

Charlie came up behind her. "I don't think so," he said.

"But I called it," she said.

"And I'm older," he responded.

She looked over at Don.

He laughed. "Sorry, baby girl. I've got to side with him this time. He is older."

"Humph. Fine." She opened the door and got in the backseat.

Charlie slid into the front seat and pulled the door shut. "Thanks," he said softly to his brother.

"Hey, older is older," Don responded. "We've got to stick together sometimes."

He put the key in the ignition, started the car and put it in gear, pulling out of the driveway. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw his parents still standing on the front porch, watching them leave. He wondered how many times his parents stood in the same place watching him leave, off to school, on a date, to college, baseball, Quantico. It couldn't have been easy for them, always watching him go. But at least this time he was coming back. They wouldn't have to worry quite so much.

He got to the end of the street. "So, where are we going?" he asked his brother and sister.

"How about the mall," Julie said. "It's got a bunch of places to eat and it shows a lot of different movies."

"The mall?" Don asked skeptically. The mall seemed so…adolescent.

"It does have the most choices," Charlie said.

"Then I guess it's the mall." He turned right, heading towards the highway. And the mall.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot. "Okay, let's go pick out a movie first and that will let us know how long we have to eat," Don said.

"Sounds like a plan," Julie said.

"I second the motion," Charlie added.

The three of them headed for the box office, where they picked a movie that in reality, neither Don or Charlie particularly wanted to see but that wouldn't get them in to trouble for taking Julie to something that their parents would think inappropriate. Tickets in hand, they headed to a little café where they had burgers and fries. They finished in just enough time to get to the theater before their movie was supposed to start. However, Julie insisted on stopping to get snacks.

"We have to have popcorn," she said, taking a place in line. "What's a movie without popcorn?"

"God, with all you just ate, you want more?" Don asked. "Where do you put it all?" His sister was a petite girl and he couldn't imagine how she ate so much.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Don't know. But I know that we have to have popcorn." 

"We're going to be late," Charlie said, glancing at his watch.

"That worries you?" Don whispered. "It's not like we really care about this movie."

"But if we're going to see it, I'd like to see all of it," he whispered back.

She got to the front of the line. "What do you guys want?" she asked her brothers.

"Whatever," they answered in unison. Neither of them were particularly interested in food.

She shrugged. She ordered two popcorns, a soda for each of them and a couple of boxes of candy. When she got the total, she looked at her oldest brother. "Don, I can I have some money, please?" she asked.

He went up to where she stood at the counter, saw all the food on the counter and the total. He shook his head. "Jeez, Julie. You think you got enough?" he asked sarcastically, pulling out his wallet.

She looked over at him pulling out his wallet, about ready to make a smart comment about his sarcasm, when she noticed his gun. The comment disappeared from her head and she stared at him for a long moment. Why was he carrying it? Was there something going on that she didn't know about? She knew that she shouldn't ask him, wouldn't ask him. But still…

"Julie?" he asked, holding out the money for her.

She blinked. "Yeah." She took the money from him and handed it to the clerk, who then gave her back the change. She handed it back to her brother. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said. "Now come on. We're late."

She started to pick up the snacks but quickly ran out of hands. "A little help, please?" she asked them.

Both of them shook their heads but reached over to take some of the food. "Do you really think we can eat all of this?" Charlie asked.

She looked at her eldest brother again and then looked back at Charlie. "We can certainly try. And I know for sure that we won't have to get up to get anything during the movie."

They handed the ticket taker their tickets and headed in to the theater. "You know," Don said quietly to Charlie, "There is one advantage to all this food."

"What could that possibly be?"

"We could eat ourselves in to a food coma and not have to actually watch most of this movie."

"That may have been the best idea you've had yet," Charlie whispered back.

"Come on, guys," Julie whispered. "There are three seats together right there."

They both shook their heads and followed her. It was going to be a long couple of hours.

1234321

He guided her in to the house and over to the fireplace. She sat on the fireplace hearth and watched him try to start the fire. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, he finally got it started. He turned to her and grinned. "Your fire, my lady."

He stood up and took her hand, leading her to his chair. He sat down and then pulled her on to his lap. She laughed. "You know," she said. "I feel awfully silly sitting here like this. I mean really, it's not like we're twenty anymore."

"Would a nice glass of wine make it easier?" he asked, stroking her hand.

She smiled. "Worth a shot."

He slid her on to her feet so that he could get up. She sat back down in the chair and watched him head to the kitchen. When he disappeared from sight, she turned back to the fire, staring into the flames. After a moment, she called out to him. "You know what this reminds me of?" she asked loudly.

He came out from the kitchen, wine bottle and two glasses in hand. "What?" He'd finish opening and pouring the wine on the dining room table so they wouldn't have to yell back and forth.

"Remember when, oh what's her name," she snapped her fingers a couple of times trying to trigger the name. "Jenny. Jenny and her husband. Karl, Kevin, Keith…," she was trying to recall his name as well.

"Oh, I know who you're talking about, Kevin…No, Ken. That's it, Ken," he responded.

"Yes, Ken. Remember when Jenny and Ken were expecting their first child and they were worried about how they were going to take care of a new baby and you volunteered to let them practice on Don?"

He smiled. "I certainly do remember. You threatened to kill me later, as I recall."

"You wanted to let people practice parenting on my newborn. What ever made you think that would go over well?"

"He wasn't a newborn. He was, what, two months old?"

"Seven weeks. Which is still a newborn." She shifted in the chair so that she could watch him at the table fussing with the wine. "They came and picked him up to take him for a couple of hours and all of a sudden, for the first time since he was born, the two of us were alone."

He brought her her wineglass, handed it to her and sat on the arm of the chair to listen to her finish her story. She took a sip of the wine. "You know, your taste in wine has gotten better since back then."

He took a sip from his own glass. "Actually, my taste hasn't improved. The budget has. And as I remember, as soon as the door shut after they picked him up, you started sobbing."

She nodded. "True." She took another sip of the deep red wine. "But I was a new mother and I hadn't been away from him since we came home from the hospital. It was very traumatic." She gave him a nudge with her elbow. "And again, as I remember, you weren't very sympathetic."

"I was ill-informed back then," he said with mock seriousness. "I didn't know that a couple of hours of peace and quiet were considered traumatic."

"Well, it was. And to try to get me to stop, you went and got me a glass of wine, handed it to me and told me to go take a shower."

"Which at first you resisted doing," he added.

"I did," she admitted. "But then I went and took a long shower and when I came out, you'd put every candle we had in the house in to that old fireplace that didn't work, to make it look like a fire. And you ordered take-out from that little place down the street." Her voice got quiet, almost dreamy, with the memory. "You said you were taking me on a date."

He smiled.

"My hair was all wet, I was my in-between maternity and new-mom comfy clothes; I looked like such a slob. And you told me it didn't matter, because we were going to have a home date. You poured me another glass of wine and served me dinner and told me that you just wanted for us to have some time together, just the two of us."

"I remember," he whispered.

She slid closer to him, resting her head against his side. "You put on the stereo and asked me to dance. You told me you wanted to spend time with me, that you missed me."

He started to play with her hair, twirling one of the ringlets.

"I realized so much that evening," she said softly, enjoying his fingers in her hair. "I remembered how much I loved you, loved being with you, being married to you. I realized that I had to remember that, not let it get lost in being his mother. I realized that I needed to take care of myself in order to take care of him. And I learned that I still had to be Margaret. And that doing that, being me, being your wife, didn't take away from being his mom. I needed to do those things **to** be a good mom."

"Wow. You learned an awful lot from our date."

She shut her eyes, still enjoying his touch. "I didn't put it **all** together that night. But it was the start of it."

"Dance with me," he whispered.

"That story wasn't a hint to recreate that night."

"Dance with me," he repeated, standing up, taking her wineglass and putting both on the end table.

"Alan." She smiled, shaking her head.

He went to the sound system and turned on the radio. Sittin' On The Dock of the Bay came through the speakers.

He smiled, went back to the chair and took her hand, pulling her to her feet.

"This is silly," she said gently.

"So what? Who will ever know but us?" He put his hand on her waist and guided her to an open spot in front of the fire.

She laughed softly, putting her hand on his shoulder. "You realize that if the kids walk in they're going to think we're nuts."

He gently spun her around. "First, the kids won't be back for a couple of hours. Second, we're their parents. They already think we're a little nuts."

"Okay. Point taken." She relaxed into the beat of the music, humming along with the familiar tune.

The song finished and after the announcer read a blurb about the song, the next one started. She smiled up at him. "So, did you learn to program a radio station while I wasn't looking?" She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Ah, if only I had that kind of power." He wrapped both arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

She rested her head on his shoulder. She could feel him singing softly along with the music…When A Man Loves A Woman…She could feel his heartbeat, feel his breath against her skin. She ran her fingers through his hair. He pressed his hand against her lower back, drawing her even closer. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes. He loved her. She tilted his head forward and pressed her lips against his. He returned the kiss and started to pull away to look into her eyes, but she wasn't ready to let go. She kissed him again, deeper this time. "Alan," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair again.

He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, trying not to let the feelings rising up within him overwhelm him. He loved her. He wanted to protect her. He knew the message in the way she whispered his name. "Margaret," he whispered, not opening his eyes.

She didn't know if she'd ever feel this way again; ever get the chance to want him again like she did now. "Alan," she repeated before kissing him again. She wanted one more chance, one more opportunity to have this part of their marriage. "Please," she whispered.

He heard all of everything caught up in her voice, in that one word. He sighed, leaving his eyes closed. "I don't want to hurt you," he said quietly.

She knew what he was saying, knew that maybe she wasn't physically up to what she herself wanted. But her head wanted it. Her heart wanted it. She was willing to take the chance. "I don't care." She rested her head back on his shoulder.

"Margaret." His voice was soft, tender.

"Make love to me," she whispered.

He couldn't deny her. He unwrapped his arms from her, reached up for her hands. He took both of her hands in his and kissed them. He then took her left hand and led her towards the stairs, towards their room. She followed him up. He opened the door for her and then dropped her hand, moving to the bed to pull back the duvet. She went to her dresser and pulled out a shirt. She started to undress, pulling on the shirt, one of his old button-down dress shirts and buttoning just one center button.

She turned back towards the bed. Their bed. She climbed in and sat propped up on her pillows, watching him, waiting for him.

He turned to look at her. He again noticed how vulnerable she looked. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She held his eyes and nodded.

He climbed in next to her, kissed her, ran his hands through her dark hair. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too."


	11. Long Day's Journey Into Night pt 3

He watched her sleep. She was curled up on her side, one arm under her head, the other draped across her stomach; the same way she slept when she'd been pregnant with Don. He watched her then, too. The way she'd rubbed her belly while she slept, soothing their growing, active baby. But it wasn't the same. She wasn't trying to calm her baby so that she could sleep.

He sighed, pushing back a loose strand of her hair. He remembered when she told him that she was pregnant. He'd come home late after one of his graduate classes, his mind occupied by a space problem they'd been discussing. She'd greeted him at the door, wearing just one of his dress shirts, just like this evening, actually. She'd kissed him, taking his hand, placing it on her stomach. He hadn't understood quite what she was doing, his mind still on his work. She'd smiled, then told him he was going to be a daddy. It didn't register at first. She told him again that he was going to be a daddy, that she was going to be a mommy. "We're going to have a baby," she'd said.

He smiled at the memory. Donnie had been born that summer.

He continued to stroke her hair for a few more moments before she began to stir. There was a soft, almost sad, smile on her face. She opened her eyes. "Hi," she whispered.

"Hi." He slid his hand through her hair and massaged the back of neck.

She sighed contentedly, shutting her eyes again.

"You know, we haven't had dinner yet," he said softly.

"That's funny," she said. "I used to make you take me to dinner before you got me into bed."

"I think you got me into bed this time, my dear."

"Touché." She opened her eyes again, looking in to his dark, comforting eyes. "You don't need to worry about dinner. I'm not all that hungry."

"You need to eat something," he said quietly. "I could get us some takeout."

"You aren't going to take no for an answer, are you?" she asked.

"I'll let you choose where I get the food from. I can go to that little Italian place over on Colorado or there's that Chinese food place over there that we like."

"We had Italian last night," she said, snuggling under the covers.

"Then I guess we're having Chinese. Do you want fried noodles?" he asked. She'd loved them when she was pregnant with Don.

"If you're going to make me eat, I think I want something a little lighter. And no seafood."

"Okay. I think I can pick something within those parameters that you'll like." He brushed back one more strand of her hair before he got out of bed.

She watched him get up and pull on some clothes. She then got up herself, pulling her robe on over his shirt.

"You don't need to get up. I'll bring the food up and we can eat in bed."

She pushed her feet into her slippers. "I'm going to take a shower," she said quietly.

He took the couple of steps over to where she stood and wrapped his arms around her. "Are you alright? Do you want me to stay? I can have the food delivered."

She rested her hand against his cheek. "I'm okay. I just don't often get to have any peace and quiet with no one pounding on the door while I'm in there. So, I'm going to enjoy it."

"Are you sure? I can stay."

She gave him a slight push. "Go. Let me enjoy my shower."

He nodded. "Fine." He paused. "I'll be back soon."

"I know," she whispered. "Now go."

He walked out their bedroom door, glancing back at her as he left.

She pulled her robe tighter around herself and then headed for the bathroom. It really wasn't very often that she got the opportunity to have that undisturbed time. Invariably, either her son or daughter started pounding on the door or calling in, wanting to know when she'd be done. And actually, soon it would get worse with Don at the house more.

She entered the bathroom, shut the door and headed to the shower. She turned the water on, letting it run to warm up. She wanted it to be as hot as she could stand before she got in; wanted the bathroom to fill up with warm, comforting steam. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror, causing her to go over to look more closely. She noticed how tired she looked, how pale her fair skin looked. Her eyes reflected the soreness, achiness that she felt all over her body. She opened the medicine cabinet, temporarily moving her reflection, and pulled out the aspirin. She opened the bottle, poured a couple into her hand and closed it, putting the bottle back in the cabinet. She put some water in her glass by the sink and swallowed the pills, chasing them with the water.

She shut the cabinet then rested her hands on the edge of the sink. She resisted the urge to look back into the mirror, knowing that taking a couple of aspirin wouldn't change what she'd seen. She turned away, leaning against the sink. She watched as the steam slowly started to build in the small bathroom. She went to the shower and checked the temperature of the water. The water was hot enough, and even though the bathroom hadn't completely filled with steam, she decided to get in. She slid off her robe and Alan's shirt, letting both fall to the tile floor. She gave a quick glance to the towel rack, making sure that one of the big fluffy towels was there for when she was finished. Seeing that it was, she stepped into shower, letting the hot water stream over her, the warmth seep into her.

For a few moments, she was able to turn off her mind and simply enjoy the heat, the pounding of the water. But it didn't, couldn't last. The awareness of the physical returned first, the soreness, the discomfort. He'd been right on some level; she really wasn't physically up for what they'd done. But she didn't regret it, didn't regret listening to heart. She knew that if this was their "last time", she would always remember it, always remember the combination of strength and softness in the way he touched her, held her. The way his lips felt against hers. The almost overwhelming sense of love and passion and tenderness that was wrapped around them. She loved him. He loved her.

And even if everything worked out remarkably well and they had ten more nights, a hundred, a thousand, she would still remember this night. When, at least for a little while, there was nothing in their world but them. She loved him, had loved him most of her adult life. And even when things had been difficult, in their lives, in their marriage, she still loved him, still wanted to be married to him. She couldn't even picture anymore what her life might have been without him.

She sat down in the tub, emotions overtaking her. She could feel the tears building in her eyes and she struggled to push them down. She didn't want to cry, didn't want to remember any part of this evening with tears. She wanted to remember making love to her husband, dancing in front of the fire, watching all three of her children head off to the movies together. That's what she wanted. Not tears. She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, resting her head. She tried to take a deep breath, tried to regain her composure, tried to let the water wash it all away. The water that could substitute for tears.

Finally, she was able to take a deep breath. She turned her face to the shower spray, letting it rinse away any lingering tears that might have broken through, letting the heat bring color to her pale cheeks. She stood up, taking another deep breath and moving directly under the showerhead. She let the water run through her hair, soaking it, before massaging in her shampoo. She inhaled the floral scent, enjoying the moment of peace it brought. She rinsed her hair but didn't move from directly under the showerhead when she finished. She just continued to let the hot water run through her hair and down her body, enjoying the sensation. When she'd finally had enough, she turned off the water and reached for one of the towels she'd made sure was there. She wrapped the smaller towel around her hair and the large, soft, fluffy towel she wrapped around her body, luxuriating in its lushness.

She stepped out of the shower and even with all the steam that she'd created, the air was still cooler than her shower had been. The cool air hit her skin, sending little shivers up and down her spine. She grabbed her robe from the floor and put it on over her towel, happy for the extra layer. She stood in the middle of the bathroom for a moment, hesitant to leave the steamy room for the even cooler hallway and bedroom. Then she remembered that the fire was probably still burning in the fireplace. That decided it. She left the bathroom, headed quickly for her bedroom, where she pulled on her clothes from before. She went downstairs and found that indeed, the fire was still going. She pulled up the closest chair up to the hearth, grabbed a blanket and sat down to take pleasure in the crackling warmth of the fire.

Time seemed to stop as she stared into the flames, their flickering movement mesmerizing her. The front door opened. She didn't need to look to see who it was; she recognized the footsteps. She continued to stare into the fire. He sat down on the hearth in front of her, putting the bag of takeout down next to him.

"I'm surprised you're down here," he said softly. "I thought I was going to bring you dinner in bed."

She leaned back in her chair, resting her head on the back. Suddenly, he realized how alike she and her eldest son were; Don had sat in the exact same chair in the exact same way just the night before. "I'm enjoying the fire," she said.

He began pulling the takeout containers out of the bag and setting them next to him. "I got you chicken and snow peas," he said, handing her the container. "Fork or chopsticks?"

"Fork," she said, taking the plastic utensil from him. She opened the container and stirred the contents with her fork. "I'm not very hungry, but this does look good."

"You know," he started, opening his own container. "Julie went through a phase where she'd only eat chicken and peas."

She frowned slightly. "When was that? I don't remember it."

He sighed. "I guess it was not long after you and Charlie left for Princeton."

"And you were feeding my three year old daughter takeout every night," she remarked.

"Not every night," he said. "Well, whenever I asked her what she wanted or put food in front of her, she'd always say she wanted chicken and peas. I can't even remember how many times I made one meal and then had to go get chicken and snow peas for her so that she would eat something for dinner. Finally, one night I just made some roasted chicken and baby peas and put it in front of her." He smiled at the memory. "She looked at me, looked at her plate and looked at me again and said that she wanted her chicken and peas. I explained to her that it was chicken and peas, it just looked different. The look she gave me, it was hilarious. It was like she wasn't sure whether to believe me or not. I got her to taste what was on her plate and then she agreed that what I'd given her was chicken and peas, but she kept telling me that it wasn't the same. She did eat the whole thing, though and a few days later, she gave up the whole only eating one thing for dinner."

She bit her lip. "I never knew that about her," she whispered.

He mentally gave himself a smack upside the head. He shouldn't have brought up something from back then. "It was a phase," he said softly, trying to reassure her. "They all went through phases. Remember when Charlie was obsessed with prime numbers and every item of food on his plate had to be a prime? Or when Donnie would only eat peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, not even peanut butter and jelly?"

"Yes, I do remember. And so do you. But I didn't know that about her…And you did." She poked at her food.

He reached over, stuck his fork into her food, pulled out a piece of chicken and held it in front of her. "Eat this," he said, trying both to distract her and get her to eat.

"You haven't tried to feed me since we were first married," she said, eating the chicken from his fork. "And a nice try on the distraction," she added.

"There are things that you know about the kids that I don't," he said quietly. "And there are some things that I know that you don't. It just happens."

"I know, it's just sometimes…Sometimes I get reminded of what I missed."

He put down his food and brushed back a piece of her still-damp hair. "We did the best we could," he whispered. "And I think they've turned out okay so far."

She smiled. "Yes. Yes, they have." She took another bite of her food. "Do you suppose it's because of us or in spite of us?"

He picked his food back up. "An interesting question…Could it be both?" He continued to eat.

She thought for a moment. "Maybe…" She poked at her food again. She really just wasn't all that hungry but she took another bite…To make him happy.

He watched her play with her food some more before she took another small bite. "Margaret…"

She stuck her fork in the container and set it down. "I know," she whispered. "I'm just not hungry. I think I'm going to go to bed. Are you going to wait up for the kids?"

He nodded. There was something humorous, though, in the notion of waiting up for a 32 year old and a 27 year old, even if they were out with their teenage sister…

She got up from her chair. She turned to leave, but then turned back, placing her hand gently on his cheek. She leaned over and softly brushed his lips with hers. "No regrets," she whispered. "No regrets." And then she headed up the stairs.

He watched her leave. He sighed. There were moments where she seemed like her usual self, maybe a little more…subdued, but still his Margaret. But then there were other times…Times when…When he just…

He worried about her.

He sighed again, jamming his fork into his food. He got up and took his container, along with the others and took them to the kitchen. He started to put the food away. It would get eaten. If not by them then by the kids. He finished the task, shut the refrigerator and headed back into the living room. He sat in the chair by the fire, staring into it, much as she had earlier. However, after a few minutes, the spell was broken. He sighed again, got up and found his book that was sitting on a nearby table. He sat back down by the fire and started to read..And to wait.

1234321

The three of them exited the theater and headed towards the parking lot. Neither Don nor Charlie were convinced that they'd stayed awake through the entire film, with Don thinking that maybe he'd had the best nap that he'd had in a while; the theater had recently been remodeled and had surprisingly comfortable seats. Julie, on the other hand, was chattering away about how much she'd enjoyed the movie and how cute the guys in it were. Don just shook his head. He wouldn't even have taken Kim to this "date movie"; she would have probably found it as hard to take as he did. But he'd made his sister happy and he'd given his parents a night to themselves. That was worth it.

They got in the car and headed towards home with Julie chattering the entire time. Don couldn't figure out if she'd really enjoyed the movie that much, was full of nervous energy or just hopped up on caffeine from all the soda she'd consumed. Whatever the reason, she just kept going, not seeming to realize that neither of her brothers was really listening to her.

Julie knew that her brothers weren't really listening to her all that much, if at all. But she was fairly certain that if she stopped, the car would drift into silence and she wasn't all that sure that she could handle the three of them driving home that way. So she filled the car with the sound of her voice, not caring how inane she might sound. She also knew that if she didn't talk about silly, rather meaningless things, then she might ask things, talk about things she probably shouldn't. Like the fact that Don was carrying a gun. She had tried to convince herself that she really hadn't seen what she'd seen at the concession stand, that it was just some kind of weird shadow. And she'd been pretty successful in the task. That is, until she saw it again after the movie as they'd headed to the car. And this time, she couldn't deny what she'd seen.

They pulled up to the house. Don noticed that all the downstairs lights were on. It looked like at least one of their parents was waiting up for them. He smiled. Dad. Dad would be waiting up. He'd always waited up. And he realized that there was something comforting in that, in his Dad sitting, reading a book or doing a puzzle waiting for everyone to be home. They walked up the front steps and into the house. And as expected, his father was in his chair by the fire, reading.

He turned to look when he heard the door open. He saw his daughter come in first, her light, quick steps bringing her over to him.

"Hi, Daddy. We're back," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked, already knowing what the likely answer was.

"Yeah. The movie was so cute."

He laughed. The idea of his sons having to sit through a movie that she thought was cute… "I'm glad that you had a good time." He paused for a moment. "Why don't you go up and say goodnight to your mother. I'm sure that she'd like to hear about the movie."

She nodded and headed towards the stairs.

"Tell her I brought her car, her keys and her kids back in the same condition as I found them. Oh, except for you being full of soda and popcorn," Don said, leaving his mother's keys on the table next to her purse.

"Ha ha," Julie responded. "I'll tell her," she added as she quickly went up the steps and disappeared from view.

"Well, I think I've had enough," Charlie said as he passed through the living room. "I'm going to go do some work in the solarium." He stopped for a moment. "You didn't do anything with my work, did you?" he asked his father.

Alan rolled his eyes. "What would I have possibly done with your work?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"I don't know…Moved it?"

"Charlie, your work is right where you left it, in the same state you left it."

Charlie nodded. "Good. I think I might have an idea to continue the thought line…" And before Don and Alan could quite even realize it, Charlie was back in his own world, his thoughts already consumed with his numbers.

Don turned to his father. "Is there a game on?" he asked.

"Probably," he replied. "But there's something I need to ask you about first."

Don looked at his father warily. What was this about? "Sure."

Alan took a deep breath. This wasn't something he was relishing doing. "Your mother and I need to understand the rules or protocols or whatever the official term is around that." He gestured to his gun.

Don felt his shoulders tighten. "Dad…" He didn't want to start this with his father. Not again.

"Don," Alan said calmly. He didn't want this to become a tense discussion. "I'm not making any judgments…"

"Not like all the other times," Don interrupted.

"Son, this isn't about the past." He again tried to keep his calm. "Your mother and I," he paused for a moment. "I need to understand. I know that you have rules around carrying your gun. I need to understand them." He stopped as he heard his daughter's footsteps on the stairs. He saw Don turn around as well.

She noticed the tension in her brother as soon as she saw him. She heard her father mention his gun and knew that's where the problem lay. She knew, as did both her brothers, what their father's opinion was with regards to guns. And Don brought one into their home.

"I thought you went upstairs," Don said to his sister.

"I'm just getting a glass of water," she said.

"With all the soda you drank? Aren't you going to float away?"

She rolled her eyes. "Noooo." She went into the kitchen and took a deep breath as soon as the door swung shut. She didn't like tension between them. She also knew that they wouldn't continue their conversation until she went back upstairs again. She got her glass of water, took another deep breath and left the kitchen. She went back over to her father and gave him another kiss on the cheek. "Good night," she said.

He gave her a kiss as well. "Good night, little one."

"Night, Don," she said as she headed back up the steps.

"Night, baby girl."

They both watched her leave. Don turned back towards his father and then sat down in the chair across from his. "Well?"

He sighed. "Donnie, your job, your work…"

"We're going to do this…Again," he interrupted.

"Let me finish. We worry about you, but in some ways, it has always been from a distance. You were at Quantico and in Detroit and Albuquerque and there was all the stuff with Fugitive Recovery. But that's changing. You're going to be home. What you do, what happens will be a part of our daily lives like it never has before. That affects us. It affects you. And we need to understand. I mean you went out to the movies with your brother and sister and you were carrying a gun." He held up his hands to try to forestall the interruption. "I get that it's a part of your job. But you're in LA right now, not Albuquerque and you're not here for work. And it's things like that that I don't understand. I'm pretty sure there must be a reason, but I don't know what that is."

Don ran his hand through his hair then leaned back in his chair. He knew his father wasn't being unreasonable; his concerns were legitimate. But there was still a part of him, a small part, that wondered why he had to explain, wondered why his dad couldn't just accept that that was the way things were in his life. "Dad," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm a federal agent. I may work out of Albuquerque right now, but that doesn't mean that I'm…limited…to there. And in reality, I should always be carrying. It is part of my job, part of my responsibilities. And while I'm not on duty this weekend…well…"

He nodded. His son didn't need to finish the sentence. He understood. He thought for a moment. "But last night, at dinner…"

"I know," he said softly.

"You didn't…"

"I know," he repeated in the same soft tone.

He saw Don look off into the fire. And he understood.

"Donnie…" He watched him look away from the fire and back to him. For a moment, it looked like he was somewhere else completely before his focus returned. "Your sister's a teenager…She and her friends, when they're here…I need to know that they're…safe."

He blinked. "I know how to handle it."

"They're teenagers, they…"

"I know what to do, Dad. It's fine. Don't worry."

He snorted. "Don't worry. I've been worrying for 32 years and…three months. And I don't foresee that changing anytime soon."

Don just shook his head at the very slight attempt at levity. He pushed himself out of his chair.

"I thought you wanted to see if a game was on," his father said.

"Nah. I think I'm just going to go to bed." He headed towards the stairs.

"Donnie…"

"It's been a long day. I really need to get some sleep."

"Don," his father started again.

He stopped and turned around.

"This evening…Your mother and I…" He saw his son blush slightly. "Thank you for this evening. We really do appreciate it."

He nodded. "You're welcome." He turned back to the steps and headed upstairs to his room.

Alan watched him go. And then the room was quiet except for the occasional crackling and snapping of the fire. He sank back deeper in his chair. The kids were all home, Don and Julie in their rooms, Charlie working in the solarium. He didn't need to wait any longer for them. Instead, now he would wait for the fire to burn out. He picked up his book again and continued where he left off.


	12. Intermezzo pt 2

Charlie stood in front of his whiteboard, pondering what he'd written out. After his initial burst of inspiration, he found himself stalled, not quite sure where he should go next. He stepped back from the board and tilted his head, hoping that a slight change in perspective would help. It didn't. He returned to his spot and started writing some notes that might help him bridge the gap from where he was to where he was trying to be. He quickly ran out of room on the relatively small board. Frustrated, he put his marker down. He needed more space. He looked around the room. This just wouldn't do. These ideas could help solve some much larger problems, maybe even P vs. NP. He needed more space. He thought for another moment. The garage. The garage had more space to put up boards on which to write. Yes, that would work.

He pulled out his notebook and turned to an empty page. He transcribed what he'd done on his board then shut the notebook, pleased with himself. He then got up, picked up his precious notes and headed to the garage. He opened the garage door and flipped on the lights. As the space brightened, he saw the two chalkboards that he remembered being there. That would do for a start, but in the morning, he would need to get more so as to have enough writing surface to expand on his idea.

121212

She heard footsteps on the stairs, stopped what she was doing and listened. They were coming up the steps, so it wasn't her mother and they didn't sound like her father's. She tilted her head to listen harder. It didn't quite sound like Charlie, so it must be Don. She heard the footsteps pass her room and open the next door across the hall. Definitely Don. His room was on that side.

A moment later, the light bulb in her reading lamp blew out. Annoyed, she got up from her window seat, left her room and headed down the hallway to the storage closet. She'd only gotten a few steps from her door when she noticed that Don's door was open and he was sitting on his bed doing something. She paused, trying to figure out what it was. Then she realized that he was checking his gun. She watched, mesmerized, but also knowing that if he looked up and saw her standing there, staring at him, he wouldn't be pleased. But she watched anyway. It was obvious that what he was doing, he'd done many times before but even in the routine that it looked like that he could do with his eyes closed, that he was focused on what he was doing.

She couldn't get over the fact that this was her brother, checking his gun, in her house. Their house. It seemed very strange, almost surreal. She knew intellectually that her brother carried a gun at work; after all, he was an FBI agent. But she never thought about him carrying it and never considered that he might carry it at other times, too. It just didn't seem like something that somebody that she knew, especially **her** brother, might do. But yet, here he was, not some criminal or bad guy, but Don, her brother, with a gun in the house. And she couldn't stop staring.

She saw him finally put his gun in a box, that she thought must be some kind of carrying case, and lock it. She saw him spin the combination and that snapped her out of the almost-trance that she'd been in. She knew that he'd probably look up at any moment, catching her, so, with one more glance at him, she turned back down the hall towards the closet to get her light bulb.

121212

He clicked his gun case closed and put it in his bottom dresser drawer. He then kicked off his shoes, settled back against his headboard, stretched out across his bed and looked around his room. His room. His room since just before he'd turned five and they moved in to the house. This room had, at various times, been his haven and his jail, a place where he'd been a little boy and where he'd become a man. (He'd brought his first real girlfriend up here one day after school while his dad was at work and his mom was with Charlie and Julie at one of his tutors. To this day, he didn't know if his parents had ever found out…) He'd hidden from his parents, his siblings, the world, in this room. He'd been grounded in this room. He'd daydreamed while staring at its walls. He was coming back, coming home. What would this room be now?

He knew, that even when he'd have his own place, he would be spending a lot of time here. It really would be **his** room again. Of course, it hadn't ever really stopped being his. His parents, unlike so many of his friends' parents, hadn't converted his room (or Charlie's for that matter) into something else when he'd gone off to college. It didn't become a hobby room or a den/study for one of his parents. His little sister hadn't expanded into it, neither had Charlie. It had stayed his room, not a shrine or anything, but still…

He sighed. He would need to move some stuff around so that there would be room for his current things; his clothes, his CD collection and well, whatever else he would need in the short-term. And he would need to do something more secure for his gun. Maybe he'd put a locker in the closet. His parents wouldn't be thrilled about that, but it was at least somewhat of a solution to his father's concern about his gun in the house with his sister and her friends. He sighed again and slid down so that his head was resting on his pillow. He yawned. He should get up and actually get ready for bed, but…He was comfortable…He yawned again, closing his eyes. He'd get up in a minute…

121212

She heard the kids come in. Even though she'd gone to bed, she hadn't fallen asleep before they'd arrived home. A few minutes later, she heard her daughter's bouncy, quick little footsteps on stairs, and then a light knock on her door. "Mom," she heard.

She sat up a little and let her daughter know that she could come in. She did and then spent the next several minutes listening to her describe the evening to her, including a thorough plot summary of the movie. She smiled, aware of the sacrifice that the boys had made to sit through that kind of fluff with her. When she was done, she gave Julie a light kiss goodnight, amazed, as she periodically was, that her teenage daughter still wanted that ritual. She watched her start to leave and then turn around.

"Oh, Don said to tell you that he brought home your car, your keys and your kids in the same condition he got them in. Except for all the popcorn and soda that I consumed."

She gave a small laugh. She appreciated Don's recollection and her daughter's remembering to repeat her brother's message. And then the room was quiet; Julie off to her own room. She burrowed back under her covers. It was a little ironic that while it had always been Alan who had waited up for the kids, she'd almost never fallen asleep before they were all home and safe. And now they were.

She wrapped her arms around her pillow and shut her eyes. Now she could sleep…

121212

He put his book down. There was no sense in trying to read; he'd spent almost ten minutes looking at the same line without ever really comprehending it. Instead, he tried to contemplate the dying fire again, but instead, he ended up staring at the fireplace itself. The fireplace had been one of the big selling points for him and for Margaret when they'd bought the house all those years ago. The house had needed some work but the bones were excellent and it was in a great neighborhood for their growing family. Of course, the ultimate selling point had been when they'd brought Donnie over with them to look at the house one more time before they made a final decision. He had run around, getting into everything and having a great time; he hadn't wanted to leave. And that did it. If he was happy, then they were happy. And they were home.

He'd never dreamed that the house would come to mean so much to him. That he would watch three children grow up within its walls, that two of them would learn to walk by toddling across its floors and to talk while playing in its rooms. That he would teach them all chess in front of the fireplace. Triumphs had been celebrated, losses consoled. There had been fights and reconciliations, break-ups and make-ups. Their family pictures lined the walls, their words echoed through all the spaces.

And it would be home to all five of them again in a way that it hadn't been in years, since Don and Charlie had gone off to college. There would be meals for five again, tweaks to the morning bathroom schedule, more groceries to buy and dishes to do. But, he realized, it wouldn't be like it was before. The boys were adults with professional careers and lives. Of course, they'd gotten used to Charlie's schedule at school with his teaching responsibilities and his research and consulting. But Don's life, his work, would add, as Charlie would probably say, a new level of complexity. No, he sighed, it wouldn't be like it was all those years ago. But it was what it was and they would find a way, like they always had.

At least that hadn't changed.


	13. The Eppes Ice Cream Maneuver

He staggered down the steps, still not entirely awake, but, having smelled the coffee brewing, he couldn't stop himself. He'd woken up in the middle of the night, after having fallen asleep in his clothes, with that disoriented, not quite sure if it was day or night or where he was feeling. He'd gotten up at that point and actually got ready for bed and then went back to sleep. However, even now, he still had that slightly disoriented feeling. So, he followed the scent into the kitchen, where he found his mother working on breakfast. He reached up into one of the upper cabinets, grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot. He inhaled the fumes then took a sip of the steaming brew.

"Good morning, Sweetheart."

"Morning, Mom." He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He looked at all the stuff she had out on the counters. "You didn't have to make breakfast for us. I could have taken care of it."

She laughed. "So, you finally learned how to cook?"

He rolled his eyes. "Well enough that we wouldn't have starved. I can do toast and eggs."

"Well, I'm making pancakes."

"I love pancakes," he said, leaning back against the counter next to where she was cooking.

She reached over and touched his cheek. "I know." She glanced at the clock. "Can you please go wake up your sister? As soon as your father gets back we'll be ready to eat?"

"Where did Dad go?"

She shook her head. "He went out to get the milk that he forgot to get when he went grocery shopping the other day."

"Right." He paused. "Am I allowed in her room?"

She looked over at him. "You still remember that? The bedroom rules?"

"Oh, yeah. And I'm not taking any chances."

"Well, you have my permission to go in to her room to wake her up. But knock first, please."

"Yeah." He paused. "Do you want me to wake up Charlie, too?"

"Charlie's already up and gone. He had something to do at school this morning." She took a deep breath. "Please don't say anything," she said softly.

He put his coffee mug down on the counter. "I'll just go get her up." He left the kitchen and headed back up the stairs. He paused in front of her door and knocked softly. "Julie?" He waited. "Julie?" he asked a little louder. No response. He opened the door slowly, poking his head in to the room. He saw her, still burrowed under her comforter, her dark hair spread out across her pale pink pillows. He snuck over to the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to do something that would scare her awake. He sat down. "Baby girl, it's time to get up." He watched her push her face deeper into her pillow. He reached out and shook her softly. "Come on, baby girl." She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Don." She closed her eyes again, snuggling in her blanket. She opened her eyes again. "Don? What are you doing here?"

"Waking you up for breakfast." He pushed a strand of her hair back off her face. "Mom said I could come in. She's making pancakes."

She stretched her arms over her head and rolled over on to her back. "Mmmm. Pancakes."

He smiled, then started to look around the room. In a lot of ways, it hadn't changed much since she'd moved in to it after outgrowing her baby nursery. The walls were still pink, although not the same pastel baby pink that they had been and white eyelet lace valances still framed the long bank of windows that overlooked the backyard. Her long window seat now had clothes and books laid out across it instead of her dolls and stuffed toys and her walls held pictures of friends and family, not her childhood drawings and alphabet prints. The room was still all her, all princess. Just a more grown up one. He looked back at her. "You know, I can't even remember the last time I was in here."

She stretched again then sat up. "It's been a long time." She rested her elbows on her knees. "It's been a long time since you've been here at all."

"Baby girl…"

"I'm just saying," she paused. "You did say pancakes, right?"

He laughed. "Yeah. As soon as Dad gets back with the milk."

"Huh?" She shook her head and put up her hands. "You know, I don't want to know." She slid over to the edge of the bed and plopped on to the floor, stretching again when her feet hit the floor. She started towards the door. "Food. Now."

He looked at her again, eyeing the tank top and shorts she'd worn to bed. "Put something else on, please."

She rolled her eyes. "When did you become so uptight?" She saw the look he gave her and before he could say something, she pulled on a pair of sweat pants that she'd thrown over the back of her desk chair and a sweatshirt that was underneath. "Better?"

He nodded.

She grabbed an elastic band off of her dresser and bounced out of her room, putting her hair up in a ponytail as she headed down the stairs. She pushed the door to the kitchen open and went to the refrigerator.

"Julie," she heard her mother say. She turned and saw that her mother was holding up a glass of orange juice. She went over to the counter where her mother stood and took the glass with both hands. She looked into the glass and then up at her mother. "You're welcome, Sweetheart."

She rested her head on her mother's shoulder. Her mother put her arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and then kissed the top of her head. "Mom," she whispered.

He walked in and saw his mother and sister together. He stopped, not wanting to intrude on their moment, but he was also unable to turn around and walk back out. He watched his mother start to play with the string of her daughter's sweatshirt. "Your brother?" she asked. He saw her nod her head slightly. "He loves you." She nodded again.

He heard the front door start to open and his father come in. He backed out of the kitchen quietly to help his Dad bring in the groceries. "Morning, Donnie." He handed over one of the bags. "Your sister up yet?"

"Yeah. She's in the kitchen with Mom."

"Oh," he said in a tone of voice that he'd known since childhood. The one that says he understood not just what you said, but all that you didn't say, but implied. He went to the kitchen, Don following behind. "I have the milk," he said loud enough so that they would hear him before he actually arrived.

"Ah, good. Now I can finish making these pancakes," she said, giving her daughter another quick squeeze before letting her go.

"Why don't you let me finish that up, Margaret." He put the milk on the counter and reached for the bowl that already had the other ingredients in it.

She reached out and stopped his hand. "Alan, I'm perfectly capable of making breakfast for my family." She looked him in the eye. "Let me do this," she whispered.

He nodded. "Let me just put away the groceries and I'll get out of your hair." He started pulling items out of the bag. "Julie, can you please set the table?" he asked.

"K. How many places should I set?"

"Four. Charlie's at school. Has some project he's working on."

"Some special double gravity anti-matter dark matter quadratic statistical equations?" she mocked.

"Julia," her mother warned.

"I'm just saying, he's always working on these things that nobody else understands at all and he just keeps talking and talking about them and he just doesn't seem to get that no one knows what he's saying and that we're clueless and just humoring him."

"Actually," Don said, "I think the whole math professor thing is just a cover for his secret life. Everyone thinks that he's doing all this deep thinking but he's really off being James Bond or some ladies man or something."

"Yes, Don. Your mother and I have had this all planned out since your brother was little. We just had everyone thinking that he was a math genius. Instead, we were preparing him to be an international man of mystery," Alan responded, grinning at his son and daughter.

"It would explain a lot," she answered, taking plates out of the cabinet and heading for the table. "Anyway, his loss. More pancakes for the rest of us."

A few minutes later, they were all sitting at the table, enjoying Sunday breakfast.

"Donnie, when's your flight?" his father asked.

"A few minutes after 4," he answered, running his hand through his hair.

"So, let's leave no later than say, 2?"

"That's fine.

"Can I go with you?" Julia asked.

Don shrugged. "Sure."

"Can I drive," she asked hopefully.

"No. No way. Not on the highway. I'd like to get there in one piece." He leaned back in his seat and looked at her. "But, I'll take you out driving before I go. How about that?"

"Really? You'll take me?"

"Why not. I've survived being in a car with Charlie driving. You can't be any worse," he smiled.

"You sure you want to do that Don?" his mother asked. "You don't have to."

"I'll be fine. I've also had the FBI driving course at Quantico."

"Yes!" She pushed her chair back from the table and moved to get up.

"Relax, baby girl. We've got time. Let me finish my coffee and the sports page."

She still got up. "I'm getting dressed. I want to be ready as soon as your done." She headed up the stairs.

They watched her go. "Thank you, Sweetheart. You made her day. Maybe even her week."

"It's all good, Mom." He settled back to finish reading the paper.

When he was finished, he got up and went to get ready. He took a quick shower and got dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a polo shirt. When he was finished, he packed his things so that he would be ready to go when they got back to the house. He clipped his phone to his belt and headed down the hall to his sister's room. She was sitting in her window seat, reading her dreaded English assignment. "Ready?"

She bounced off the seat, slid on her shoes and grabbed her purse. "Ready. And I have my permit," she said, holding up the small bag.

He shook his head and smiled. "Then let's go."

She rushed down the stairs ahead of him and stood by the door, waiting. He laughed. "You look like a puppy waiting to be taken for a walk."

"Then take me out, big brother."

He opened the door and she rushed out to driver's side door of her father's car and tapped her foot.

He followed her. "Why don't you get in and set your mirrors?"

She looked at him expectantly. "I don't have the keys," she said.

"What makes you think I have the keys to Dad's car? We took Mom's out last night."

"You don't have them?"

"No. And I don't have a magical ability to make cars start either." He took a deep breath and the exhaled. "Why don't you go in and get the keys from Dad?"

"Oh. Yeah." She darted up the front steps in to the house and a moment later came back out with the keys in her hand. She opened her door, got in and then let him in. She started adjusting the seat and mirrors, trying to get them just right. As she did, he fastened his seatbelt, making sure that it was good and secure. Finally, she was all set. She put the key in the ignition, started the car and then started fiddling with the radio. He reached over and turned it off. "No radio," he said. "You need to learn to focus on the road first."

"But…"

"No buts."

She made a face but decided not to comment. She didn't want him to change his mind about letting her drive. She took a breath. "Where should I go?"

He thought for a moment. "Head towards the high school. The parking lot should be pretty deserted on a Sunday."

She nodded, putting the car in to gear. She pulled out of the driveway and headed towards school. She drove as carefully and precisely as she could, not wanting to make any mistakes with her brother watching. She reached the school parking lot, stopped and looked over at him. "What next?"

"Let's practice maneuvering in tight spaces, parking and then maybe some parallel parking. I bet Dad still keeps the emergency cones in the trunk, I can use them to set up some things for you. So, put the car in park and pop the trunk for me."

She did as he asked. He got out, grabbed the cones and set up some scenarios for her. He jumped back in the car and gave her the plan for what he wanted her to do. They spent the next hour weaving in and out of the cones, pulling in and out of parking spaces and attempting to properly parallel park. After he was satisfied that she could handle the car in all sorts of tight situations, he told her that it was time to call it a day. She put the car in park and put her head back on the seat's headrest. She'd had just about enough of parking but she was confident that when it came time to take her driver's test, that she'd absolutely nail that part of the exam.

"Okay, baby girl, let's head home. I've got a plane to catch," he said, checking his watch.

She looked at the car's clock. "Can we go get some ice cream first?"

"Ice cream? Really? I have a plane at 4," he said impatiently.

"Don, you have time. It's not even 1 yet and I know we're leaving at 2. So please?"

"Can't we do it next time? You know I'll be back soon…"

"But who knows how soon." She looked over at him. "Please."

He saw the look in her eyes, heard the tone of her voice. She wanted, maybe even needed, her big brother's attention. He gave in. "Alright. We can go, but we can't take too long."

"Deal." She put the car in gear and drove off towards a nearby ice cream stand. She pulled into the parking lot, turned off the car and got out. He got out as well, shutting the door behind him. They went up to the window and ordered and once they received their ice cream, they sat down at a small picnic table not far from the car. They both dug in to their ice cream sundaes, enjoying the mixture of hot fudge and cold ice cream.

"Okay, so this is good," he said. "Now talk, baby girl."

She looked down into her dish. "About what?"

"Whatever it is you wanted to talk about here and not at the house." He reached across the table and lifted her chin so that she had to look him in the eye.

She looked away and then looked back. "What do you actually do?" she asked.

"Huh? What do you mean, what do I do? About what?"

"For work. Nobody talks about what you do every day. It's like this great big secret. I don't get it." She poked at her ice cream.

"You know what I do. I'm an FBI agent." He didn't get where this was coming from.

"I know that's your job title, but what do you do? What do you do when you go to work? I mean I understand what Dad does; he's a city planner who works on how the parts of the city function together. He has all sorts of plans and blueprints and stuff. I get it. Mom's a lawyer. She works on contracts and stuff for her clients. She sometimes goes and makes arguments in court. She reads and writes and argues. Pretty simple concept. Charlie's a mathematician and college professor. He teaches. He does research. He works on stuff that only about 3 people in the world understand. Again, basic concept is pretty simple. But I don't know your basic concept. You're my big brother and I don't have a clue about what you do." She finally took a breath.

He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward a little. "I'm impressed that you got all those words out. But why is this coming up now?"

She took another bite of her ice cream. "You're coming home," she whispered.

"I know. But why the Eppes' ice cream maneuver? You could have asked me about my work without it."

She looked down at the table. "Not in front of Mom. I don't want her to worry. Not now. And when she thinks about what you do, she worries." She looked back up at him. "I don't want her to worry, Don."

He nodded. "I'll tell you what I can, but you need to realize that Mom will still worry. About me. About you. About Charlie. It's just a part of what mothers do. I can't make her not worry." Although he wished he could. He ran his hand through his hair. "She loves us. And because of that, she worries."

She dug into her ice cream again. "But you're different. When we don't hear from you for a while, she gets this look on her face when the phone rings. It's almost like she's holding her breath."

"Early in my career, I worked in Fugitive Recovery. You spend a lot of time on the road, it's hard to keep in contact with people, with family. I called when I could, but it's tough. And it was tough on Mom and Dad. They haven't forgotten that." He paused. "They worried that something might happen."

"Might happen?"

He shrugged. "You deal with some really bad guys in that line of work."

"But you don't do that anymore."

"Not in a long time. You remember when I was in Virginia? The second time?" She nodded. "That was after I did Fugitive Recovery. And after that I went to Albuquerque."

"But what do you do there?"

"It's the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I investigate."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Don…"

He smiled. "You wanted more than that? Okay. We investigate crimes, federal crimes, and national security threats. Depending on the unit, they could be financial crimes, violent crimes like kidnapping but also things like terrorism or counterterrorism. It just depends."

"And this requires you to carry a gun when you're off and come home for the weekend?" She stared at him intently.

So, this is what this whole thing was about. The tension between himself and his father in particular about his gun in the house. "It's a part of my job and so, yes, I carry it with me. And yes, I know that Mom and Dad don't like me having it in the house. I understand. But…"

"But? Really?"

"It's a tool, Julia," he said a little more harshly than he intended. "A tool that I use, when necessary, to make sure that my team gets back safely. That I get back safely. I'm responsible for them and I take that very seriously. We put our lives in each other's hands. And if takes using my gun to make sure that it happens, that they get home in one piece, that innocent people are safe, then that's what I have to do. I'm their boss. It's my responsibility."

She looked down. "Have you ever had to use it? Your gun?"

"Yeah."

"Why? When?" She asked, looking at him intently.

He matched her look with his own. "I'm not going to tell you that. I'm your big brother and I don't want you to think about me that way. It's not the image I want you to have of me."

"Of you pulling your gun and shooting someone."

"That's not how it happens. I just don't pull my gun and shoot people. I'm not an assassin or a psychopath. But situations do arise and I did what I needed to do." He took a breath. "We don't take those situations lightly. I don't take them lightly. It's not an easy thing to do and you'd better be damn sure that you don't have any other choice. I know if there was another choice and I didn't take it, I couldn't live with myself."

"Then why did you do it? Why join the FBI?" she whispered, staring into her ice cream.

He shrugged. "Because I knew I'd be good at it."

"Don…"

"That's the best answer I have for you. I knew I'd never make the majors in baseball. I quit and the next day I signed up for the FBI exam. I just knew that this was something I could and would do well, so I did it. I don't regret the choice. It doesn't mean that it's easy and some days it very, very hard. But I did the right thing."

"Wait. Before you said you were their boss. Boss of what?"

He smiled. "Wow, okay. I'm the SAC in Albuquerque. The Special Agent in Charge. I run the office there."

"They let you run an office? I think I just found a reason not to trust the federal government. I mean really. If they'd let you be in charge…" she grinned at him.

"So you think you're funny now, huh baby girl?" He pointed at her ice cream. "Finish up. I've got to get back so I can catch my plane."

She nodded. "Okay. One more question?"

"Ask."

She thought for a moment about how she would ask him. "Can you show me how, I mean how to shoot?"

"No. No way. First of all, Mom and Dad would kill me in various and sundry ways for even letting you near a gun. We both know how they feel about that. Second, my Glock is not some toy pop gun for you to play with or try out. If you want to learn how to use a gun, go have a discussion with Dad and see what he says. If he's alright with it then we'll talk. But we both know quite clearly what his opinion is. And I want you to respect it. Got it?"

She nodded. "I just want to understand you."

"I know, baby girl. But there are some things that aren't for you, they're just mine. Okay?"

She nodded again. "You know I love you, right?"

"I know. But I'm not changing my mind." He took a last bite of his ice cream and stood up. "Let's go."

She took his dish and put it in hers, got up, and threw them out. As she came around the table, he reached around her shoulders, gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head. "You know, I kind of like you." She looked up at him and smiled. The same smile she used to give him when she was a little little girl, before he went off to college. He gave her another squeeze. "You think you can get us home in one piece?"

"For you, big brother, I think I can manage." She ducked out from under his arm and went to the driver's side door of the car, opened it and got in. He followed on the passenger side, looking at his watch as soon as he shut his door. "Shortest, fastest, safest, legal way home, please."

"Got it." She started the car and headed for home. Carefully and safely.


	14. Home

As soon as she pulled in to the driveway, he was out the door and heading for the house.

"Don, it's 2:00," his father said as he rushed in. "You don't want to miss your flight."

He looked at his watch again, for about the 10th time in the last 5 minutes. "I just need to grab my stuff," he said as he climbed the steps. He pushed the door to his room open and went to the bottom drawer of the dresser. He pulled his gun case out, unlocked it and took out his gun, putting it on. He shut the box and put it in his bag, zipping it shut. He pulled on his jacket and took a quick look around. He had everything. He left the room and hurried back downstairs.

"Where's Mom?" he asked, not seeing her in the living room.

"Upstairs," his father said. "She's laying down."

He gave a quick nod and headed back up the steps. The door to his parents' bedroom was closed. He knocked softly. "Mom?"

"Come in, Sweetheart," he heard her answer.

He pushed open the door and saw his mother pushing herself up so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked so tired. He went over to the bed and took her hand. "I've got to go catch my flight."

"I know, Sweetheart." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Mom," he whispered, his voice catching. In this moment, he didn't want to leave. Not even for a little while.

She squeezed his hand. "It's okay. You'll be back soon."

He nodded.

She squeezed his hand again. "Go. You don't want to miss your flight."

He shut his eyes and nodded again. "I'll be alright," he heard her say softly. Was it for his benefit or for hers? He got up. "I'll be back soon," he repeated, echoing her words.

"Have a good flight, Sweetheart. Call when you get back."

"Yeah." He turned to leave. He turned back. "I love you, Mom," he whispered.

"I love you, too, Sweetheart. Now go," she smiled, watching him leave. She curled up on the bed, already missing her eldest son.

He left, shutting the door behind him. He stopped and took a deep breath before heading down the stairs to his waiting father and sister. "Let's go," he said, picking up his bag and walking out the door. He put his bag on the back seat and got back in on the passenger side, his sister and father right behind. His father started the car, pulled out of the driveway and headed to the highway. He stared out the window, a part of him not wanting to be in the car, but back at the house. After so long away, after building his own life, he just wanted to be home with his family. He shut his eyes. He just couldn't go there right now. He had to deal with what was right in front of him first; getting back to Albuquerque, Kim, his job.

Finally, they pulled in to the airport drop-off area. His father pulled to the curb. He got out of the car and grabbed his bag from the back seat. His sister, who got out of the back seat on the other side, came around the car to him. He slung his bag over his shoulder so he could give her a hug. He wrapped his arms around her slender frame and she reached up and wrapped hers around his neck. He kissed the top of her head. "You be good, okay? No giving Mom or Dad a hard time."

She nodded slightly, her face buried in his chest. "You know you can call me anytime, right?" he told her.

She nodded again. "You'll actually answer?"

"Of course. And if I'm out being a psychopathic killer, I'll call you back as soon as I'm done." He pulled back a little and grinned at her.

"You are so disturbed, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. You know, I've been told that." He gave her another hug. "I've got to go catch my plane."

"Okay. Talk to you soon." She let go of him and got into the front seat where he'd been and rolled down the window.

He leaned in. "Dad, I'll let you know what's going on when I hear, okay?"

"That's fine, Donnie. Have a safe trip."

"Thanks, I will." He stepped away from the window.

He heard his father put the car into gear and watched the window slide up as they pulled away. He watched them merge in to traffic and then turned to go in to the airport, checking his watch as he went in. He walked up to the closest counter for his airline and waited for the two people ahead of him to finish checking in. He glanced at his watch again. Finally, they finished and he was able to get to the counter. He checked in for his flight, filled out the requisite forms for his gun and headed through security. Once he'd made it through, he went to his gate and just sat, the weight of the weekend settling firmly on him. He'd known why he'd come before he'd even left Albuquerque, but the reality was something for which he was completely unprepared.

A few minutes later, his flight was called. He pushed himself out of his seat and headed for the jet way so that he could be one of the first to board. He was and as soon as he got on the plane he went to speak with the pilot, letting him know that he had a gun-carrying FBI agent on board. Having accomplished that task, he went to his seat, stowed his bag and settled in for the two hour flight ahead. He wasn't looking forward to that time, two hours of quiet with nothing but his own headspace, which wasn't always the best neighborhood in which to be. He was going to have to face Kim when he got back, a prospect that, at the moment, he didn't relish. If nothing else, she probably wouldn't appreciate the fact that he had intentionally left messages for her at home when he knew she wouldn't likely be there. And had done it more than once.

He shut his eyes. He decided that he wasn't going to think any more about the impending conversation. He couldn't do anything about it at this point and so he was just going to let the chips fall where they may. After a few moments, he opened his eyes again. He couldn't just not think about what was going to happen. He needed something more active for his brain to do. He thought for a moment and then pulled his bag back out. He opened it and felt around for the small notepad that he knew was in there. He found it, along with a pen. He zipped the bag shut and shoved it back under the seat in front of him. He flipped to an empty page in the pad and started to write, making a lists of all the things he needed to take care of in order for him to move back to LA.

He wrote through the pilot's and flight attendant's instructions. He paused during takeoff, but as soon as he could, he pulled down the table from the seat in front of him, put his notes on it and kept writing. Pages upon pages of lists and notes, for himself, for Kim, for his office. Things he needed to do, people he needed to talk to, items he would need to pack to have available when he moved, case notes he needed to share. He didn't look up from his writing until the flight attendant asked him if he wanted anything to drink. He got coffee instead of the beer he really wanted and then went back to writing. Finally, after almost an hour of fairly continuous writing, he put his pen down. He couldn't think of anything else to write. He reviewed all that he had written and satisfied that he hadn't forgotten anything, he put the pad and pen away in his bag. As he did, he found a sports magazine that he had shoved in before he'd left. He pulled it out, thankful that he'd have something else to do for the rest of the flight.

Finally, his flight landed and taxied to the gate. As he got off the plane, he turned his phone back on and listened to the messages that had been left for him, including one from Kim. She told him that she'd gotten hung up on a project with a friend and wasn't sure if she would get home before or after him but either way she'd see him then. He decided that that probably left him a little extra time and therefore an opportunity to pick up a six pack of beer on the way home. He wasn't sure if there was any in the fridge and he was fairly confident that he would need at least a couple to get through this evening.

He exited the airport into the warm air of the New Mexico evening. He headed to where he'd parked his SUV barely 48 hours before, got in to the big black vehicle and drove off to his apartment. After another momentary mental debate as to whether he really should stop to get the six pack, he did stop. A few minutes later, he was on his way again and not long after that he was looking for a parking spot in front of his building and also checking to see if Kim's car was there. It was, and he pulled in to an available space a couple of spaces down from hers. He shut off his vehicle and took a deep breath before grabbing both his bag and the beer and heading in to his building.

He pulled out his keys, unlocked the front door and went inside, dropping his bag by the door. He heard the shower running. It gave him a few more minutes at least before he had to face her. He took the beer into the kitchen, opened the fridge and found that he had one bottle left. He took the cold beer out before putting the new six pack in and shut the door. He popped open the bottle and took a long drink. He left the kitchen, went to the living room and plopped down on the couch. He stretched, put his feet up on the coffee table and continued to drink his beer, waiting for her to come out. By the time he'd finished it and put the empty bottle on the table, she'd finished and come out of the bathroom, her hair wet.

"I see you've made it back in one piece," she said. "How did it go?"

He sighed. "It was okay, I guess. Tough, but okay."

"How's your Mom?"

He pulled his feet off the coffee table, dropping them to the floor. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face. "She's sick," he said very softly. "She has cancer."

"Don..." She sat down next to him. "You knew that when you left." She said gently.

He looked up at her. "It was like she was trying to be herself, but she was tired, so it became more like she was an imitation of herself." He leaned back against the couch cushions. "I'm going back," he whispered.

"I imagine you're going to rack up a lot of frequent flyer miles."

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I'm moving back. Back to LA. I'm going home."

"You're moving back? When did you make this decision?" she asked, the tension starting to rise in her voice.

He shut his eyes. "The moment I saw her. I just knew. I just knew." He opened his eyes again, looking at her. "She's my mother." His voice caught in his throat. "She needs me. My family needs me. I can't not be there for them."

"What about us? About your life here? About our lives together?"

"I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen. The only thing I know is that I have to be there." He leaned back again, his eyes shut. "Family first," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

"Don," her voice sounded far away, even though she was still sitting next to him. "Are you asking me to drop everything and follow you to LA? I don't think I can do that. Not on a moment's notice."

"I understand," he said softly. "But I have to go." He opened his eyes again, but instead of looking over to her, he stared at the ceiling. He felt her hand reach for his, her fingers intertwining with his. He wanted to pull away, not wanting the physical contact. It felt wrong to have it; it was a part of his life here, in Albuquerque and what he really wanted now was to be there. His heart, his whole body, ached to be back home. So many years away and now all he wanted was his home and his family. But he didn't pull away. He didn't want the fight.

"I know you do. I get that." She paused. "We'll find a way to make it work. We're both resourceful people. We'll find a way." She stroked his hand with her thumb. "Don, we'll make it work. It'll be okay."

"Why," he thought, "Does everyone keep saying it'll be okay? Nothing about any of this is okay." He wanted it to be okay but he knew in his gut that it wasn't. For an instant, he wondered if it would ever be okay again. He sighed, still not looking over at her. "Sure," he said.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "Are you going to take a leave of absence or…"

"I'm going to talk to Henderson on Monday. Tomorrow. I'm going to see what my options are, but hopefully I'll be able to work a transfer to the LA office." He kept staring at the ceiling.

"So you're really moving permanently, not just making it a temporary, short-term thing." She kept massaging his hand.

"Yeah."

"That's all you have to say?" She started to get her witness interrogation tone in her voice.

He got up from the couch, went back to the kitchen and grabbed himself another beer from the fridge. "Do you want one?" he asked.

"No. I would like an answer, though."

He sighed. "I don't know what you want me to tell you. Until I know what the choices are…"

"But," she interrupted. "Your plan is to go. To actually pack up and get a place in Los Angeles. If you can make it work, that's what you want to do."

"Want? This has very little to do with what I want. It's about what they need, my mom and dad. They need me. They need me to be there."

"What about your brother and sister?"

"My brother?" he asked incredulously. "Charlie? If it's not some equation or theory…" His voice trailed off. He remembered the slightly glassy-eyed expression on his brother's face as they all sat at the table on Saturday and talked. And the way he made sure he was out of the house early on Sunday. This was all outside his little academic bubble; this was the real world and Charlie just didn't tend to do the real world. He ran his hand through his hair. "Julie's only 16. She's too young. She's… She's still just a kid." He sighed again. "They need me."

"Don…"

He shook his head. "I'm the oldest. That means something. It comes with a certain set of responsibilities." He'd always taken those responsibilities seriously, always protected his younger brother from the other kids when they tried to pick on him (of course, getting his own shots in as well), always protected his baby sister from their brother. It's just what he did, what he'd always done, would always do.

"We're engaged, Don. Where does that fit in to your plans?"

The heart of the matter. A question to which he had no answer. He picked at the label on his beer bottle, trying to delay. Partially, because contrary to what she may think, he didn't really have a plan. He knew what he needed to do, but beyond his lists he made on the plane, there was no actual plan. He finally looked up at her, his eyes briefly dark with emotion before he was able to bring himself back under control. If she'd caught his eyes in that moment, she might have seen the longing, anxiety and confusion pounding away at him, but if she had seen it, she gave no indication. "There is no great plan here right now," he finally said, honestly. "I'm just trying to, I don't know, get through."

She went over to where he stood by the counter and put her hand on his back, between his shoulders, rubbing gently. "I love you. We're planning on getting married. I want to do the right thing, but I just don't understand. I don't know where we're going." She sighed. "What do you want from me?"

He rested his elbows on the counter and put his head in his hands. "Can you make time go backwards? Make it so I didn't get a phone call from my parents six days ago? Make it so none of this is happening?" Contrary to the words he chose, there wasn't even a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

She slid her hands around his shoulders. "If I could, I would."

"But you can't. No one can." He exhaled. "Hopefully, I'll have a better idea tomorrow."

"Okay. But tell me you'll talk to me before you make any more big decisions. Please."

He nodded. "Yeah." But there was a part of him that wondered if he would or if he would just do what he'd done before. Just make a decision without thinking, without talking, relying strictly on his instincts.

She rubbed his shoulder for a few more moments. "Have you eaten yet?" she asked.

"Does this count?" he asked, holding up his beer.

"No. A liquid diet does not count."

"Then no."

"You need to eat, then, instead of pickling your liver." She wrapped one of her arms around his and gave him a tug. "Let's go."

"Can't we just eat here? I don't feel like going back out."

"And which one of us is going to cook? And with what? I doubt you brought home groceries along with the beer."

"Uhh, that would be a no."

"Then we need to go out." She gave him another tug. "Come on."

He relented this time, putting his beer on the counter and standing up. "Fine. But somewhere close. And simple."

"Deal." She let go of him so that she could grab her purse and keys. "I'm driving," she said, noticing the look on his face. "You're tired and on at least your second beer."

"But…"

"No arguments," she interrupted, before he could even get started.

He sighed. "Whatever."

She took his arm again. "Let's go."

They left the apartment, her arm still wrapped around his, nothing really resolved, but at least at peace.

For the moment.

121212

He finished putting the last box in his car and shut the back door. Most everything he needed for the short-term was in the SUV; the rest of his stuff was already on a moving van to LA where it would sit in storage until he found a place. He turned around, leaned back against the vehicle and looked at her. She took a step forward, put her hands on the SUV on either side of him, leaned in and gave him a long, deep kiss. He knew that he would miss **that** while he was away.

She finally broke off the kiss and pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. He gave her a smile. "You know," she started softly. "I could at least make the drive out with you."

He shook his head. He knew that he needed the time alone to think, to adjust. "You need to be here, to take care of things until the new guy gets in and settled."

"Screw the new guy," she responded.

"I'd rather you didn't," he said dryly.

"Funny, Eppes," she retorted. "But seriously, it's an eleven hour drive…"

He reached out, put his hand behind her head and pulled her in and kissed her, interrupting her train of thought. "I'll be fine," he said.

Of course he'd be fine. She'd watched him tell anyone and everyone who said anything for the past three weeks that he was fine. He was barely sleeping, spending the time he wasn't going back and forth to LA either working or packing, but still, if you asked him, he was fine.

He kissed her again. "I need to get on the road," he said softly.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. She wasn't quite ready to let him go. "I know."

But he was ready to leave. He would miss her but he needed the going back and forth to end. He needed to be in LA full-time. He needed to be with his family.

He put his hands on her hips, leaned in and kissed her one more time. "I have to go," he said quietly. He didn't want to prolong his departure any longer than he had to. It just made things…harder.

She took his hand and led him to the driver's side door. He opened the door, climbed in and settled into his seat. She pushed the door closed. "I'll call you from wherever I stop this evening," he said, leaning out his open window.

She nodded. He was really leaving. And she was really staying. "Drive safe," she said softly.

"I will," he responded. He put his seatbelt on and turned the key. The SUV's large engine rumbled to life.

She moved back, giving him enough room to pull out.

He put the SUV in gear, and pulled out, looking in his mirror as he did so. He saw her wave and he returned the gesture before rolling up his window. He shifted a bit in his seat to get comfortable for the long drive ahead. For an instant, he looked at his CD player that he'd hooked up to the vehicle's sound system. He decided to leave it off for the time being, giving himself some quiet to think while he drove.

A few moments later, he pulled on to I-40 and headed west. 780 miles. He settled in.

There was a long road ahead.

**A/N:** Yes, neither Kim nor Don said "I love you" when he left that last time. I think that at some level, both of them knew at that point that they were done, even if they didn't say it.

And I am done as well, at least with this story. Thank you so much for the feedback and response to what was initially going to be a short little, Don POV story about that time, but it turned out that there was so much more there to use.

Now, hopefully, I can get back and finish Scenes From A Childhood. Or maybe a follow-up to this piece. Or maybe to Don & Robin…So much writing, so little time…

Again, thank you so much. And everyone have a happy holiday season.

PS – I'm originally from Nebraska (Papillion) but have lived in the Northeast for many, many years.


End file.
